


Memories of Me

by Seleya889 (Hinky_Hippo)



Category: NCIS
Genre: Big Bang Challenge, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Epic Friendship, Gen, Mentor/Protégé, Rape/Non-con References, Some scenes may be triggery, Spoilers through 7x4, Team as Family, Torture, Very bad things happen to very special agents, Violence, beheadings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-06
Packaged: 2017-11-23 17:04:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 30
Words: 104,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hinky_Hippo/pseuds/Seleya889
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Abby looked away nervously for a moment before tentatively meeting Gibbs’ gaze. “Are you sure Tony’s okay?” She grimaced before continuing in a rush, “I had that dream again – the one where he’s trapped in the hourglass… I’m just afraid something hinky’s gonna happen.”'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My deepest thanks to Mella68 for the absolutely beautiful artwork and to my betas: annieb1955, gategirl7 and Zan for their incredible work! Any mistakes are purely my own as I am an incurable, pathological tweaker. Thanks also to my cheerleaders: slipstream and luthien82, I couldn’t have done this without all your wonderful input and support! 
> 
> I don’t own NCIS, it owns me…

 

 

  
[artwork by Mella68](http://mella68.livejournal.com/87952.html)  


  
  
_Special Agent L.J. Tibbs stood pensively at the rear of the movie theater, methodically scanning the darkened room for a seat. The previews had already started, casting the theater in flickering, sometimes blinding light interspersed by total darkness. In the light of a celluloid explosion, he observed only a few other people were at this showing; the movie had been out for a few weeks now and, in a town driven by money and power, not many people attended the early Wednesday matinees._  
  
_As an extended preview about an odd cartoon weasel scrambling around with a huge acorn in a movie he hoped he would not be subjected to any time soon brightened the room, he purposefully made his way to a seat halfway down then awkwardly scooted across the empty row to avoid banging his knee. Reaching his seat, he carefully set the popcorn and coffee cup into the armrest slots before quickly removing his jacket, neatly folding it and draping it over the seat next to him._  
  
_Fall had arrived in DC with a vengeance, bringing with it a cold which went directly through his bones – the theater was a warm refuge in the bitter late October cold. The old Marine relaxed into the seat, leaning back as the feature started. The movie was loud with thunderous explosions and orchestrally punctuated double-crosses at every turn. Knowing his second in command would grill him later for details, he easily found himself caught up in the action. Even without Harrison Ford in it, he had to admit this was his type of film._  
  
_He chuckled lightly to himself at an implausible scene. How the writers could ever imagine a spy would do that was beyond him – he, himself, had only seen a vaguely similar scenario play out once and still shook his head at the memory. Anyone else would have been dead by the perpetrator’s hand but, as only Tommy could, he had driven the man to such distraction, the suspect hadn't gotten around to killing him before not only admitting to the crime but also explaining his entire motive to the cheerfully talkative yet obviously dim-witted agent in such excruciatingly explicit detail, the team had plenty of time to get into position for the take down. For his impromptu interrogation, Tommy had received a well deserved commendation and an even more well deserved cuff to the back of the head._  
  
_A tap on his heel during a particularly intense scene brought all his senses to high alert. Keeping his head forward, Tibbs surreptitiously took a more thorough survey of the room as he kneaded at a crick in his neck only to settle back into his seat with a sigh. Sinking deeper against the backrest, he watched the action on the screen as his mind wandered between the movie and the room around him._  
  
_The only movement in the stillness of the theater was the action on screen as the people around him lived vicariously through the action heroes. As much as he enjoyed the entertainment the movies provided, Tibbs knew enough real heroes, who had executed and survived scenarios just as fantastic, that movies were typically a rare treat shared with friends. When the movie ended with a rousing crescendo and the end credits began to roll, he could hear the shuffling and scraping behind him as the people headed towards the exits._  
  
_Once he was satisfied the theater was empty save the young man working slowly from aisle to aisle with a trash bag, dustpan and broom, Tibbs slowly rose to work the kink out of his knee and gather his things as the end credits finished scrolling and the house lights came up. Picking up his jacket, his cell clattered to the floor noisily. He swore lustily as he picked it up from the sticky floor along with the Jujube box next to it. Slipping his cup into the empty popcorn box, he worked his way up the ramp and out of the theater, dropping his trash off on the way._  
  
_Tibbs shrugged his jacket on as he approached the door, slipping the candy box into one of the roomy outer pockets before pushing the door against the pressure of the brisk October winds. Stepping out into the bright light, he tipped his collar up to keep the biting gusts coming off the Potomac off his neck as he hurried to his car. He could hear the box in his pocket rattle lightly as he ran – the clatter of rock hard candies against thin cardboard. A red sports car eased past him, the tall driver flashing him a friendly grin when their eyes met briefly. He bit back the returning grin, allowing for a curt nod of thanks for letting him pass._  
  
_Reaching his own car, Special Agent Tibbs blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding as he quickly started the engine and got the heater running. Pulling out into traffic, he could see the red sports car deftly weaving through the lunch hour rush the Capital city was notorious for. Tibbs chose to take a more sedate pace, staying in the slow lane to watch for any followers. A detour along the riverfront to avoid the worst of the traffic then a stop at a drive through coffee shop assured him he was alone before he accelerated towards the Navy Yard and the Agency._  
  


000

  
  
As Gibbs strode out of the elevator, he could see Tobias Fornell leaning impatiently on his desk. The FBI agent’s partner, Ron Sacks, tapped away on DiNozzo’s computer, earning a harsh glare from the former Marine.   
  
“There’s an empty desk over there. Use it,” Gibbs ordered as he passed a coffee to his FBI counterpart.   
  
Picking up on the source of the lead agent’s displeasure, Sacks’ superior matched the glare with one of his own. Gibbs watched impatiently as the younger FBI agent twitched his mouth ever so slightly, his gaze sliding from one man to the other. Fornell tipped his head towards the other desk with a raised brow, watching his man log off the computer and rise.   
  
Satisfied that that was now under control, Gibbs briefly met Ziva and McGee’s questioning eyes as he swung behind his desk to check his weapon, his eyes radiating confidence to his two junior agents. He watched them both relax at the implied message while remaining ready for the next command – they weren’t as attuned to him as Tony but they both had learned well.  
  
“So, Jethro, how was the movie?”  
  
Gibbs momentarily regarded the senior FBI agent with a raised eyebrow. “Better than that damn chick flick I went to last week.”  
  
“Boss, I don’t think  _‘Transformers’_  qualifies as a chick flick,” McGee protested before finding himself caught in a cerulean frown. “Um… uh…” Slipping his hands into his pockets, McGee backed next to Ziva. “Nevermind.”  
  
“I am a chick and I liked it,” Ziva offered her partner with crossed arms and a challenging look as she hovered close to the lead agent’s desk while Gibbs quickly double-checked the small pile of messages awaiting his return.  
  
“Ninja chicks don’t count -- you’re also packing an entire Ginzu set…” McGee rejoined unapologetically.   
  
Fornell snorted in amusement before getting back down to business. “Did you meet with him?”  
  
In answer, Gibbs looked up and quirked the corner of his mouth inscrutably. Rising to his feet, he grabbed the jumbo Caf-Pow! cup, swung his arm to include all of them and headed for the elevator. “Abby’s lab. Now.”  
  
Reaching the elevator, Fornell eyed his compatriot suspiciously. “You aren’t going to tell us anything until we’re down there, are you?”  
  
The team leader shrugged noncommittally before escorting his contingent into the elevator. “It’ll keep ‘til then. We’re gonna need Abby’s input.” Raising an amused eyebrow at his friend’s impatient huff, he spun to face the door without another word.  
  
As the elevator headed towards the basement, Sacks condescendingly spoke up from the corner he had been crowded into, “You know, the FBI elevator has muzak.”  
  
“That’s a good thing?” McGee asked pointedly.  
  
Ziva glanced quizzically at her partner. “What is this muzak?” she inquired softly.  
  
“Sterilized music.” McGee huffed. “You do realize we don’t have that many floors. It’s not like we’re in the elevator that much.”  
  
Catching Gibbs’ eye, Fornell chuckled, “Speak for yourself, McGee.”  
  
“Yeah, well… Would the muzak keep going if the elevator is turned off?” the junior field agent wondered out loud.  
  
Ziva slyly cocked a brow at McGee before coyly offering, “I could hum, if it would make you happy, Agent Slacks.”  
  
“Enough!” Gibbs barked as the door dinged open to the usual cacophony found on the lab floor. He noticed the two FBI agents momentarily recoil from the din while his own agents were right on his heels when he strode out the elevator and into Abby’s open door without a backwards glance, his brief smile hidden from their view.  
  
“GIBBS!” Abby hurtled towards him, grabbing the Caf-Pow! from his hands while still bouncing in his path as questions poured out of her. “Did you see him? How did he look? Did he give you a message for me? When’s he coming home? What’s—“   
  
“Abby! Noise!”   
  
She obediently snatched up her remote, clicking it in the general direction of the stereo and plunging the lab into silence before turning back to the team leader only to look incredulously at the candy box he calmly handed her. “Gibbs! You’ve been going to way too many movies! These are, like, the worst for your teeth!”  
  
“What about this?” he asked, jiggling her cup with an upraised eyebrow.  
  
She drew a long slurp from the straw, glaring at him in outrage. “This…“ She licked her lips. “..is the nectar of the gods,” she happily explained, smiling smugly in reply to his indulgent grin. She eyed the box again. “So, what’s this?”  
  
“That’s what I want you to tell me,” he answered simply, following her to her workbench when she twirled in place and slipped on some gloves.  
  
Abby opened the box carefully, peeking into it before reaching for a pair of plastic forceps. McGee eagerly leaned closer when the first flash drive came into view. As he slipped into some gloves himself and reached for the device, Abby slapped his hand away.  
  
“McGee! The doctor is still working!”  
  
“There’s more?”  
  
“Yeah, I can see four more, but there’s a whole bunch of candy in the bottom, so that may not be all.”  
  
“Four more?” Sacks interrupted, earning a glare from the forensic technician. “How much information did he get?”  
  
“Uh…” McGee considered the small electronic devices thoughtfully as Abby continued to arrange them in a neat row on her counter. “There’s really no telling until we open them up,” he explained.   
  
Once she extracted the four additional drives, Abby busily scooted on her stool through the crowd to another counter. Grabbing a petri dish, she pushed off, ending up where she had started. With everyone watching closely, she tipped the candy box over it, sending a multicolored cascade of small, hard pellets bouncing into it and across her workbench before extracting one more Jujube encrusted drive from the bottom of the box.   
  
Checking the now empty box one last time, Abby’s blood red lips spread into a broad, happy grin. Her ponytails bouncing, she flipped the box so Gibbs could see. “He left me a message!”  
  
The lead agent peered into the box curiously. With one hand on hers, he turned the box, squinting slightly and letting out a short chuff of amusement as he made out the small heart sketched inside with a roughly scribbled smiling bat silhouette in the middle.  
  
“I hate to interrupt, but what do we have here?” Fornell asked wryly.  
  
“Well, uh, it looks like six flash drives, each one capable of handling approximately a hundred twenty-eight Gigs of memory…” McGee passed a can of compressed air to Abby’s unspoken request. “Once Abby has them cleaned up, we can see exactly what Tony found so far.”  
  
Ziva picked a pellet up, examining it curiously. “This is edible? A candy. Yes?”  
  
“Depends on what you deem edible,” McGee answered cautiously. From past experience, he strongly suspected Ziva’s definition of edible was considerably broader than his own.  
  
“It does not look or smell edible…” She balanced it on the pad of her thumb before flicking it with her forefinger. When it bounced off Sacks’ forehead with a dull ‘thwip’, she grinned in delight at his scowl.  
  
McGee averted his eyes to hide his amusement. Leave it to Ziva to find a martial use for Jujubes. Wondering what she could do with a Nutterbutter, he made a mental note to not aggravate her near the snack machines as he concentrated on the flash drives Abby was working on.  
  
“This drive’s pretty clean,” Abby observed out loud. “Let’s take a peek at it now and I’ll get the rest functional and uploaded as soon as possible.” She swung her stool around, scooting it the short distance to her computer. Inserting the drive into the port, she initiated access to the small device.  
  
Tim leaned over her shoulder as she sorted through the information while everyone else crowded around the pair. “Looks like only a few files are encrypted,” he noted absently.  
  
“Yeah.” The forensic scientist’s ponytails bobbed in agreement while she opened another file, scrolling through the list of numbers it yielded. “It looks like this is all in code.”  
  
“Any idea what kind?” Fornell asked at her elbow.  
  
Gibbs rounded the counter to look at the plasma. He squinted at the numbers. “Could they be bank accounts? Passwords?”  
  
“I don’t know. They aren’t all the same length, so if they are, it’ll take some narrowing down. A couple have a letter or two interspersed in them but most are simply numerical. They could be anything,” Abby admitted. “I’ll run some decoding and search programs to see if anything pops up.”  
  
“What else is on this disk?”  
  
“Not much. It looks like mainly .jpgs.”   
  
She opened a picture of a freighter then sorted through the files again before opening another. This one showed a group of men. In the back, with a broad smile, stood Tony, one arm around a shorter man’s shoulder, the other with a drink raised in salute. The man in Tony’s embrace grinned around a large cigar, which dwarfed his small facial features, his upraised eyebrows chasing a receding hairline across a furrowed forehead.  
  
“Jesus, Jethro, do you have any idea who he’s with?” Fornell exclaimed.  
  
The lead agent didn’t know all the men in the picture, but the shorter man next to his senior field agent was the prime target of the sting, Salvatore “The Bulldog” Zaccharia. “There’s a reason we sent him in,” Gibbs observed proudly even as his gut twisted at the infamous man’s closeness to his agent. Looking intently at Tony’s face, Gibbs crept closer to the screen. He could see the nearly hidden lines of strain, the slight cloud to the usual sparkle, which sharply contrasted with the wide, friendly grin.  
  
Despite his unremarkable looks, Zaccharia was notorious for his sadistic temper. The brutal, iron grip he maintained on his business dealings was the stuff of legend and any attempts by law enforcement to coerce cooperation from his associates were all met with terrified silence, mysterious disappearances and, in some cases, suicidal reactions.  
  
Gibbs studied the picture for a moment then looked to the senior FBI agent standing next to him. Fornell had approached the plasma with a look akin to awe as his mind raced with possibilities.   
  
Tobias shot a glance at him out the corner of his eyes before returning to his scrutiny. “We may have to rethink the target of this sting,” he muttered to Gibbs.  
  
“Who?”  
  
Fornell snorted at his options. “I’d have to run it by a few people, but there are some big fish in that picture. It’d be a perfect opportunity to expand and get them all.”  
  
“Not without reading Tony in. The bigger the op, the greater his exposure is gonna be. His neck is already pretty far out.”  
  
“Do you think you could get word to him?”  
  
“Our next meet isn’t until next week. He’s in too deep to attempt unplanned contact without having an extraction on stand-by.”  
  
“That works for me. I’ll talk to my superiors as soon as your people get those files opened – see what they want to do.”  
  
“Well, let’s get to work; I want this closed sooner, not later,” Gibbs cautioned. He peered over his shoulder to where he could meet Abby’s eyes over her monitor. “Abs, any chance there are any of those eggs in the pictures?”  
  
“Easter eggs? The file sizes wouldn’t indicate it but I’m already checking, just in case.”  
  
Sacks stepped closer. “If there wasn’t much on this drive, why would DiNozzo use so many of them?” he enquired curiously. He retreated slightly when Abby glared at him. The FBI agent would never admit it, but the NCIS women scared him far more than any of the men.  
  
“Apparently someone thinks I wear spikes for decorative purposes,” she muttered under her breath with a demonstrative twirl of her wrist. The Goth stabbed sharply at her keyboard to open a picture of a yacht while she answered defensively, “Just for starters, Agent  _Slacks_ , we still don’t know how much data is on the others. This drive was only loaded two days ago.”  
  
Gibbs rounded the counter to slip up behind her, his chest lightly brushed against her back as he peeked over her shoulder. He felt Abby unconsciously sink into his body warmth, his breath tickled her ear as he suggested, “He may have used a blank one each time he tried to download something in case he got caught.”  
  
“That would be the safest way to do it,” McGee admitted as he closed rank on the other side of the forensic scientist.  
  
Seeking to help break up the tension, Tobias pointed out, “Like you always said, Jethro, you might not always understand his methods but you gotta love the results. A few of these pictures alone are going to make some people very uncomfortable – I see a few people who have managed to dodge any tangible link to Zaccharia up to now. Abby, do you have any idea how long it will be before we get to see what’s on the other drives?”  
  
Looking thoughtfully over her shoulder to meet Gibbs’ eyes before answering, Abby shrugged slightly. She faced the FBI agent as she replied, “It should take me an hour tops to clean them up enough to work with but then it totally depends on what’s on them. This one only has a couple encrypted files and they look like rudimentary encryptions. Not what I would expect from an organization which is involved in what we think it this.”  
  
“Why’s that?” Sacks asked.  
  
“Ah…” McGee frowned at the easy question as he paused to sort his thoughts. “With the kind of money and potential ramifications any sort of exposure could involve, it would behoove them to use the best state of the art security, especially on sensitive files. DOD level, preferably. Rule of sevens rewrite/erase protocols…”  
  
“Ducky did suggest Zaccharia was a bit of a technophobe and enough of a narcissist to feel he didn’t need to worry,” Ziva reminded everyone. “Considering he’s a third generation gunrunner, whose family has managed to steer under the radar for so long, he may feel somewhat untouchable.”  
  
“ _Fly_  under the radar,” McGee corrected quietly.  
  
Ziva shook her head at him. “But, they have boats, yes?”  
  
“It’s still fly,” McGee asserted. He met Gibbs impatient nod, directing his partner’s attention towards the senior agent.  
  
“Let’s let Abby do her work. We can talk upstairs,” Gibbs suggested as he discretely signed  _–my girl-_  next to his lab tech’s cheek. He paused until he saw the hint of a sparkle break through her preoccupied expression before he turned to head for the door.  
  
“Gibbs?” Her hands tightly clenched in her lap, Abby waited for him to turn back, gratefully watching as he directed the rest of the group to continue on without him.  
  
Eyeing her posture, as Abby slouched slightly on her stool with her feet hooked in the legs, he strode over to her, only stopping when her knees brushed against his thighs. Tilting his head, he bent low to meet her eyes. “What’s up, Abs?”  
  
She looked away nervously for a moment, before tentatively meeting his gaze. “Are you sure Tony’s okay?” She grimaced before continuing in a rush, “I had that dream again – the one where he’s trapped in the hourglass… I’m just afraid something hinky’s gonna happen.”  
  
Gibbs sighed softly. As much as he wanted to dispel her concerns, his own gut hadn’t settled since they began this op and he had long ago learned a healthy, grudging respect for Abby’s seeming precognition where his team’s safety was concerned. “He looked good when I saw him today,” he assured. “With the rate this case is going, he should be back before you know it.”  
  
Abby nodded unhappily, only looking up when Gibbs gently lifted her chin.   
  
“I’ll send McGee down in a little while. See what DiNozzo’s got for us this time and maybe we can get him home where he belongs. Okay?”  
  
A kiss to the cheek elicited a shy smile. He signed  _-I love you-_  behind his back as he trotted out of the lab. Abby numbly returned the hand sign to an empty doorway before clicking her remote at the stereo to saturate her corner of the universe in  _Android Lust_ , and then directing all her energy into her work.  
  


000

  



	2. Chapter 2

  


 

Director Leon Vance descended into the bullpen to find his Major Case Response Team and their FBI counterparts eagerly awaiting his arrival. “You wished to see me? Where are we with this op?” he asked his senior lead agent.

In answer, Gibbs nodded towards the plasma as McGee started speaking.

“Well, we’ve managed to open all the files. The encryptions were pretty basic in most cases but a few required more advanced algorithms, which took Abby and me most of the weekend to work out. They were multilayered cryptograms with…” Seeing Gibbs’ and Fornell’s eyes begin to glaze, the computer specialist caught himself. “Anyways, what we have is this. We have more than sufficient evidence of Zaccharia’s involvement in the illicit arms deals both at Quantico and Norfolk as well as evidence pinning a number of his associates to his operation.”

“What sort of evidence are we talking about here?” Vance demanded.

McGee pursed his lips briefly. Tapping confidently on his computer keyboard, he pulled examples up on the plasma while he listed, “Contact names and addresses, what essentially amounts to sales receipts, orders, photos. I don’t know where Tony found this information, but it’s pretty damning – he must have gotten into a private laptop. This isn’t stuff they should have left lying around anywhere.”

“Corroborating data?”

Ziva stepped into the conversation. “Gibbs and I have additional surveillance photos.” She nodded to the screen as McGee piggybacked examples of the newer photos next to previous views of each suspect.

“Good work. Anything further we need?”

“We still haven’t determined what that initial list of numbers means or how their network works.” The junior field agent frowned in frustration. “Based on the evidence we have, they’re moving huge amounts of drugs and weapons all over the globe.”

“Perhaps, we could extract it from them in interrogation,” Ziva suggested with a gleam in her eyes.

Vance looked over to Gibbs. “You have more than enough to arrest and convict?”

“Legal’s onboard. They’re holding the paperwork for warrants until we’re ready to go; the FBI is gonna hit a few associates in a coordinated strike and we don’t want to run the risk of a leak by getting the warrants too soon.”

Vance shifted his toothpick in thought as he nodded in agreement. “ETA? Where’s your boy in this?”

“I’ll be seeing DiNozzo this afternoon and will be giving him the signal then. Then we’ll finalize everything. Shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

“Looks good. Keep me in the loop.” He raised an eyebrow at Gibbs as he tossed his toothpick in the trash. “Bring him home.”

000

 

Gibbs eagerly pulled the Charger into the theater parking lot, circling twice before settling on a space near the door. Carefully treading over a slushy puddle, he noticed the red sports car parked in the fourth spot from the front. Dodging the sleet, he entered the lobby with a huff, removing his jacket and shaking the slushy droplets free before they melted into the fabric. Scanning the marquee for Theater Four, he grimaced when he saw the selection. The damn acorn movie. 

Stepping up next in line, he absently rubbed his thumb across his fingertips where he could almost feel DiNozzo’s head snap forward with a yip. “Cinema Four.”

“One senior?” the attendant asked, peeking over the counter to make sure he hadn’t missed anyone and only looking up when his question was met with silence. 

Dead silence paired with an equally deadly glare.

“One adult,” the former Marine sternly corrected.

“Oh. Okay,” the young man enthused, handing him the stub. “Here you are, sir. Enjoy the show!” 

Gibbs bemusedly quirked a corner of his mouth at the young man as he palmed the ticket and headed over to the snack bar.

“Hi! Your usual? I remembered to start a new pot,” the young woman greeted him when he got to the counter. At his appreciative nod, she handed him a large coffee and small popcorn. “Anything else?”

Smiling in reply, he made a show of looking at the candy selection. He pointed to the small rolls of mints in front. “Peppermint.” He quickly paid for his purchases, turning in time to see a familiar back disappearing into the men’s room.

Surreptitiously glancing around for onlookers, Gibbs ducked into the bathroom as well. Placing his coffee and popcorn on a nearby counter, he went into an empty stall. His mints dropped to the floor, eliciting a Marine-worthy oath.

“Peppermint?” came an amused voice from the stall next door. “My favorite.”

“Yeah, mine, too, but somehow I don’t think I want them anymore.”

A soft chuckle echoed in the small room. “Oh, by the way, here’s some toilet paper – that stall’s out.”

“Thanks,” Gibbs replied as he accepted the wad of paper passed under the divider. He looked at it curiously before he slipped it into his pocket. Exiting the stall, he took his time washing his hands before heading to the theater.

“Enjoy your movie,” wafted from the other stall as the door slammed behind him.

Gibbs didn’t look at the small bundle of soft paper in his pocket until later in the day when he was parked outside a coffee shop. While it wasn’t the first time Tony didn’t attend the same film, it still made his gut churn when he didn’t see any sign of his senior field agent at all after their brief encounter. He had watched the movie with all his senses directed elsewhere, hoping to satisfy the insistent disquiet to no avail. Carefully unfolding the flimsy paper, he read the quickly scrawled note inside:

_‘Big meeting Sunday. B-dog’s house. Hit then. Watch your 6! T’_

000

 

_His veins surging with adrenaline, Special Agent McGregor strapped on his bullet-proof vest, reveling at the feel of the familiar, comforting weight as it settled on his shoulders and snugged against his chest. He cinched it tight, the way he liked it as it reminded him of Amy when it embraced his torso in a protective, almost breath-stealing hug. In every direction, agents were equipping themselves with the trappings of a major armed assault. The raids were to be carried out by a small army of agents from various federal agencies and state police in three states simultaneously. Tibbs’ team was slated to assist in the raid on Saccharia‘s estate, where Tommy had spent the majority of his time._

_Once equipped, Tibbs led his team to the west gate of the estate, while the other teams staged themselves at their assigned positions. From where they awaited the signal, McGregor could see Tommy’s prized vintage Trans Am glistening in the sun as it stood out from the collection of grey and black sedans. It was unseasonably warm in this part of Virginia, a warm front had brought the heat of summer to interrupt a brutal fall. Above the nearly soundless pattering of feet as teams assumed their positions, an ongoing celebration could be heard in the distance and the aroma of steaks, cigars and shrimp wafted from behind the luxurious mansion as Saccharia’s associates partied, unaware that their corrupt world was about to come crashing down around them._

_McGregor’s heart raced in anticipation. This was the most difficult part of an assault – the wait before the order to move in. The soft hint of jasmine to his right alerted him to Lisa’s silent presence. He tried to keep himself as still as his two partners even as he berated how he could hear his every twitch, breath, heartbeat and rustle._

_Tibbs’ hand rose slowly in a tight fist. He circled his pointer finger to include all of them and then pumped it three times towards a door a sentry had just wandered into, before he raised his fist again, spreading his fingers straight up and apart for the countdown. Five. Four. Lisa nodded to Tibbs then calmly met McGregor’s eyes with a purely predatory look before scrutinizing the environs once more. Three. Two. Resting his hand lightly on the butt of his Sig, McGregor tensed. One._

_The earwigs crackled to life. “Go! Go! Go!”_

_After keying in the code, they followed the gate as it smoothly swung open. Watching their flank, McGregor rested a hand on the small of Lisa’s back to help maintain position as he raced sideways up the cobblestoned driveway and into the mansion directly behind his partners. Outside, towards the rear of the building, alarmed screams and enraged shouts could be heard as gunfire erupted in every direction. Intent on their mission, they ignored the heightening chaos as they cleared room after room in the nearly empty house, single-mindedly searching for their teammate. A sudden staccato of machine gun fire froze them all in position._

_Tibbs head jerked up at the torrent of increasingly unanswered gun reports followed by an unearthly silence. The earwigs went from a flurry of startled exclamations to frantic team count-offs in a matter of seconds. As he tried to calm his breathing, McGregor watched as a sudden realization flashed between Tibbs and Lisa – the machine guns weren’t theirs and, most assuredly, had been turned inward. Saccharia’s men had decided to scorch the earth before anyone could be taken prisoner. Uttering a heartfelt oath, the senior agent rushed past him, changing direction and wordlessly signaling them to follow._

_Tibbs’ hand slamming down on his shoulder dropped McGregor in his tracks as a shadowed figure suddenly pirouetted from behind a door frame, spurting blood and spraying bullets aimlessly. With a few spastic jerks, he fell, clawing his way down the wall before lying still, the machine gun clattering noisily to the floor nearby. Tibbs didn’t spare the man a second look as he pulled McGregor to his feet, kicked the automatic gun out of sight and continued to run. Lithely jumping over the man’s body, Lisa retrieved her blade from his neck, absently wiping it off on her pants as she raced towards the rear of the house._

_Bursting onto the patio into a sea of FBI agents, they found the ground littered with the dead and the dying. In the center of the murky crimson swimming pool lay a macabre display of two women sprawled lifelessly on a slowly rotating raft, which squealed piteously and bubbled forlornly as air gradually escaped the bullet holes in its side. An FBI agent kicked a body off the top of a grill, turning away in revulsion when the body fell to lie smouldering on its back on the blood-spattered marble. While the stereo continued to play upbeat party songs, the coppery smell of blood and scorched flesh hung heavy in the air as the agents looked for the living amongst the dead._

_While the area was cleared, Tibbs’ team frantically searched for their teammate, desperately checking any body which remotely matched his height and build fruitlessly. They stormed through the house and its outbuildings, looking for any sign of either Tommy or Saccharia and leaving the rest of the raid to the FBI._

_By the time the dust settled on that long, bloody day, not even two dozen people were in custody from all the warrants. Anyone alive who was not in custody, including Saccharia, had gone to ground._

_Tommy was nowhere to be found._

000

 

“Ziva, could you stop doing that?” McGee begged petulantly.

The former Mossad officer’s head snapped around to glare at her partner, the knife she had been fiddling with for the past hour pausing momentarily. “Stop what, McGee?!” she hissed. Her eyes wandered back to the man sitting in the interrogation room and her hand started sliding the knife back and forth again. 

After finding no significant clues the first twenty-four hours after the raid, they had spent the past two days in interrogation, unsuccessfully trying to get a lead on Tony’s whereabouts. Pat Maloney was their last known chance to get information about his disappearance. A Marine MP patrol had picked him up trying to stow away on a ship in Norfolk just the night before and had delivered him to NCIS as soon as they were able to identify him. After sitting for hours, the man had ceased fidgeting and started to space out, staring at a point just to the right of one of the monitoring cameras.

“Just stop whatever it is you’re doing with the knife. You’re making me nervous.”

“I would rather be making him talk!” Her eyes narrowed. “Where is Gibbs?”

“I think he’s still working out jurisdiction with Fornell and the Director.”

The door to interrogation slammed open and the two senior agents stalked in. 

McGee commented drily, “I guess they’ve worked it out.” He raised an eyebrow at Agent Sacks as he sidled into the observation room before pointedly ignoring him.

In the other room, Tobias Fornell leaned casually against a wall, crossing his arms as he watched the suspect with a bored expression.

Gibbs yanked out the chair to straddle it as he loomed over Maloney. “I’m looking for one of your associates.” The team leader pulled a pair of photos out of a folder and slapped them down on the table. “This man… Where is he?”

McGee glanced over his shoulder past Sacks to one of the monitors showing a close-up of the table’s contents. Tony’s old FBI mug shots, with his alias, Antony DiSalvo, photoshopped in, stared up at him.

Maloney snorted and gave the senior agent a bored shrug. “Never seen him before.”

“I’m thinking he’s lying,” Tobias offered glibly. “What do you think, Jethro?”

With a dangerous glare, Gibbs slid another photo from the folder. Ziva and McGee watched the man twitch when he saw the group picture with him at Tony’s shoulder. And then another. And a third.

Maloney calculatingly glanced from one agent to the other. “Okay, so maybe I’ve met Antony -- he and Sal were tight. Whaddaya want him for?” Closely watching their demeanor, he regarded the men speculatively.

“National security,” Gibbs stonily replied.

Interlacing his fingers, he slid them behind his head as he leaned back with a feral smile. “Well, while I can’t take the credit for it, if that’s what you’re worried about, I can tell ya you have nothin’ to worry about any more…”

“Why do you say that? Where is he?” Fornell asked curiously.

“He’s in the wind -- haven’t seen him for days.”

“What happened?” Gibbs sharply demanded with a scowl.

The picture of calm, Maloney shrugged nonchalantly. “Some sort of big falling out.”

“Over what?”

He leaned forward to divulge, “The story I heard was Sal found out he was a Fed.”

Fornell shook his head. “Not one of mine. As a matter of fact, I locked him up for murder a few years ago.”

“Then why was he out?”

“Stowed away in a body bag – got tossed with the trash,” the FBI agent admitted with a discomfited frown.

Refusing to be distracted, Gibbs urgently pressed, “Any idea where we can find Zaccharia?”

Maloney snorted in derision. “If I did, there’s no way I’d tell ya.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table and rocking his shoulders forward as he looked directly into Gibbs’ eyes. “If it’s DiSalvo you want, I can tell ya, Sally beat ya to him. Ya don’t piss off Sally. If he don’t get clean, he likes messy. You ain’t gonna be seeing Antony any time soon. If that’s all you want, I’m outta here!”

Stone-faced, Gibbs shook his head. “You aren’t going anywhere.”

“You don’t got nothin’ on me!”

Gibbs looked over his shoulder to Fornell and bobbed his head with a shrug. “Material witness, ya think?”

“At the very least… He got out of there unscathed, too. Maybe knew we were coming?”

“Hey! I wasn’t there!”

Ignoring Maloney, Gibbs wondered, “Informant or trigger man?”

“Either way, dead man walking. Gun residue?”

“Test was inconclusive.”

“He definitely had time to wash up. Maybe gloves?”

“Come on!” Maloney pleaded. “I swear I wasn’t there!”

Both senior agents turned to the suspect to blink in unison at him before regarding each other again.

Fornell nodded in Maloney’s direction. “Kid says he wasn’t there, Jethro. Pretty big shindig to not be invited to.”

“Wouldn’t want to refuse an invitation from Zaccharia…”

“..unless you knew what was coming…” Fornell finished Gibbs’ thought.

“You got room in your lock-up, Tobias? We’ve got a full house downstairs.”

“I’m sure we can make room for him. He knows most of the guys down there already, so I’m sure they can share.”

Maloney grabbed Gibbs' sleeve desperately. “You can’t set me up like this! I didn’t do nuthin’!” 

The glare directed at him in reply was purely predatory. “DiSalvo or Zaccharia – your choice.”

Leadenly drawing away from the agent, Maloney nodded at the mirror. “I want a lawyer.”

000

  



	3. Chapter 3

  


Striding into the bullpen, Gibbs surveyed the office as he checked his weapon. It was still early, the blossoming morning light shone at a low angle through the large windows which overlooked the Navy Yard, bathing everything in the room with a bright, rosy glow. With their most recent case closed late the evening before, he didn’t expect his two agents in to finish their reports for a few hours. He checked his messages and e-mail for any updates on Tony, scowling to himself when he found nothing yet again.

It had been eight weeks since he last saw his senior field agent and everything had dried up within days of realizing he was missing. As a result, after a rigorous investigation, which spanned two exhausting weeks, and an argument in the Director’s office which brought the entire squad room to their feet and then scattered them just as quickly when Gibbs finally stormed down the stairs, the Major Case Response Team had been put back into the rotation with Vance allowing them to devote all their down time between cases to search for their teammate. The FBI had put out a ‘Wanted Alive’ BOLO on his alias while NCIS had posted a ‘LEO in Peril’ BOLO on him in the hopes of garnering the most widespread awareness. From his end, Ducky had sent requests to all his contacts for notification of any John Does with Tony’s general build, pulmonary scarring or blood type and spent long hours sifting through everything directed his way.

As of yet, it was as if Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had simply disappeared into thin air.

Rising slowly with a soft knee pop, Gibbs squinted and ducked his head against the sunlight from the window as he grabbed the two cups he had brought with him that morning and headed towards the elevator. While he was parking his car, he had noticed the hearse parked nearby with a thin glaze of ice already slowly radiating across the cooling windshield and Abby trotting into the building. He could never quite understand how she could bounce so lightly with those clunky boots but realized a long time ago that Abby defied more rules than he could ever dream up.

Reaching the lab, the senior agent could see Abby had just started her day, the equipment was all humming to life, running through their initiation diagnostics in the silence. While she occasionally played a ‘wake up’ CD to her machines, Abby usually waited to turn her music on until her ‘babies’ were warmed up so she could hear any discrepancies in their usual sequences. As he silently watched her, he reflected how, even without the music, she always seemed to move as if to a personal rhythm. As they came to life, Tony’s face popped up on three monitors simultaneously then the plasma a second later, causing Gibbs to grimace at the reminder. He glanced away in time to see his favorite lab rat scurry in his direction.

“Gibbs!” She snatched the Caf-Pow! cup from his hand, slurping noisily as her eyes danced in greeting at him over the rim.

While everything ‘Abby’ was still considerably muted, the senior agent was glad to see some of the typical spring in her step so early in the morning – she had been deeply affected by her best friend’s disappearance and was having the hardest time of them all trying to maintain some level of normalcy. While her initial reaction to Tony had been less than favorable, they had fast become the closest of friends and confidants.

“Mornin’, Abs,” he greeted with a kiss to her forehead. He frowned at the red-rimmed eyes, the lines of stress which were etched on her porcelain features. When she lingered close to him, he granted her a one-armed hug, drawing comfort from her closeness as she snuggled against him with a sniff. He’d spent another long night down by the docks, looking for clues, and had come home with only the increasingly familiar aches borne of another night out on the harsh Chesapeake shoreline.

Gibbs released her and found an out of the way counter to lean against as Abby set her drink down and impatiently swiped at her eyes only to sweep through her domain like a lab-coated cyclone, speaking continuously as she worked. 

“I should have those results for you soon – they should be done now, since you’re here and all but they aren’t. I don’t know why; I left the test running overnight and Major Mass Spec seems to be behaving himself today and… Oh, good!” She tossed a small pile of mail off the top of a large box left sitting on her workbench. “This must be the EDTA tubes they had backordered. I can’t imagine how they could run out of EDTA tubes. I mean, seriously…”

Drawing his eyes away from Tony’s picture on the plasma, Gibbs allowed himself a reserved smile behind his coffee at the almost normalcy of the moment as she busily rummaged into a drawer for a pair of shears, flipped the box and started to open it without pausing her monologue.

“..it’s not that I can’t use the glass ones – because they had those --, but the plastic ones are just so much more convenient, especially if I need to freeze some samples for later and-- _Gibbs_ …”

Even with his sharp hearing, the agent nearly missed her softly uttering his name. He was so distracted by the pictures on the monitors and the Post-it note with the too large number on it in the center of the collage on the far wall, he probably would have failed to notice it altogether if it hadn’t been for the abrupt halt of her diatribe. Gibbs was at her side in an instant, looking over her shoulder in shock at what she held in her hand.

Her hands shaking, Abby chewed the inside of her cheek as she looked sideways at the senior agent. “It’s from Tony.”

Squinting his eyes, he gently shifted her wrist and leaned back slightly so he could read the short note she held.

_‘Hi Abs!_

_Sorry I can’t make your Christmas party this year – you know how much I love going, but it just can’t be avoided. I’ll have to beg a rain check on our usual dinner. Maybe we could make it super special this year and hit the Ritz for some of that Beluga caviar you like?! Here are everyone’s presents -- could you hand them out for me? There are notes in each of the packages._

_Please let the Sisters know I’m really sorry I’ll be missing Christmas Eve with them – I guess Sister Mary Joseph will be the only baritone at Matins this year!_

_Have a GREAT Christmas – I’ll make it up to you later?!!!_

_Love ya to bits!_

_T’_

Swallowing hard, Gibbs allowed himself a couple of minutes to read and reread the note and gather his thoughts as his gut roiled. “Gloves,” he commanded tersely. He reached for a nearby box and offered it to Abby before grabbing two for himself. Snapping them on, he lifted the box, inspecting it from every angle. “Postmark is from Montana. We’ll need to trace that. I want this x-rayed before anything else is moved.”

With all of her animation gone, Abby carefully slipped the gloves on. Her mournful eyes glanced through her bangs up to the agent. “What would he be doing in Montana, Gibbs?”

“I don’t know. Call McGee in. Ziva, too.” While she called down to autopsy then phoned the two agents, Gibbs hefted the package, noting how heavy it was. Inside, he could see the top layer of presents, all neatly wrapped and labeled. Tilting the package first one way and then the other, the team leader nodded over to Abby. “Do you want to do anything with it before we run it down to x-ray?”

“No. Jimmy is in already, so he’s got the x-ray machine warming up. By the time we get down there it should be ready for us.”

Holding the package by two corners, Gibbs swung around and headed for the door with Abby close behind. He elbowed the call button and strode quickly into the elevator when the doors slid open. Abby hit the floor button before he got a chance and fidgeted at his elbow as they descended the one floor to autopsy.

Jimmy met them as the zero pressure doors slid open with a swoosh. “What’s… Agent Gibbs!”

“Are you ready for us, Palmer?” Gibbs asked brusquely as he strode towards the mobile x-ray unit set up over the far table.

“Um… Yeah. It should be ready by now. It doesn’t-” He watched as Abby helped Gibbs position the box under the unit. “-take too long,” he continued. “Here, let me work it. Aprons are hanging up over there. Don’t forget the thyroid shields,” he cautioned as he attached his radiation badge to his protective gear. Stepping up next to the machine, he tilted his head to look curiously at the package. “What is it?”

“It’s from DiNozzo.”

Looking into Abby’s anxious face for confirmation, Jimmy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Tony?! But how..? Where..? OW!” He rubbed the back of his head.

“Shoot the pictures, Palmer. We need some answers. When’s Ducky due in?” Gibbs barked as he wrestled with the heavy lead garment. He stood still only as long as necessary for Abby to wrap the Velcro straps around his back, firmly attach them to the front of his apron and then slip a thyroid shield around his neck.

“He should be in soon. He offered to help me study for a test I have this afternoon.”

“Good. Okay, we’re ready. Shoot!”

They took several views of the box, then carefully removed each present and shot some more. While Jimmy scurried off to develop the plates, Abby took the large exterior box and the glossy “Montana Skies Artisanal Collaborative” brochure to check for prints and more thoroughly examine the postmark, leaving Gibbs to brood over the array of presents left lying on one of the stainless steel tables.

“My… Isn’t this festive! Good morning, Jethro. Christmas isn’t for another week, to what do we owe the occasion?”

Shaking his head before nodding it in the direction of the presents, the senior agent sighed softly. “They’re from DiNozzo, Duck.”

Hanging his coat and scarf up, the coroner froze as his eyes widened in surprise. “Anthony?” He rushed over to the table. “But how? Have you found him?”

“I don’t know yet. They came in the mail this morning. Abby’s checking the packaging and Palmer just shot a bunch of x-rays. The package came from Montana and the note we saw doesn’t give any information.”

With his tie flapping loosely around his neck, McGee scrambled in, nearly tripping over his own feet to report to Gibbs. “I got here as fast as I could, Boss. Abby said you had something from Tony?”

“I need you to track this address down and check Tony’s financial transactions again, see when these were bought.”

“I’ve had everything flagged,” McGee protested. “I should have heard if something went through.”

“Ya think?!” An eyebrow impatiently rose in warning. “Rule number eight.” Off the blank look, he answered sharply, “‘Never take anything for granted.’”

“Uh… On it, Boss!” McGee spun around, looking for a computer, then stutter-stepped towards the doors. “I’ll be in Abby’s lab.”

“Jethro, do you seriously think Anthony sent these?”

“I don’t know, Duck. Postmark is seven days ago. It doesn’t feel right but it’s the most we’ve had since he disappeared.”

Ducky slipped on some gloves to sort through the brightly decorated packages. Ignoring the increasingly agitated agent next to him, he hefted them all, giving Tim’s a curious sniff and Gibbs’ a gentle rattle while he bided his time, waiting for Jimmy to return with the x-rays.

“Gibbs, Abby called. She said you had a lead on Tony?” Ziva searched her superior’s face before the presents arrayed on the table between them distracted her.

“He sent Abby these seven days ago,” Gibbs tersely explained as his hand took in the small pile. “We’re following down leads now. We’re done with these here, gather them up and go see McGee. He’s in Abby’s lab. I need flight information for Montana and the go bags ready immediately.”

“On it, Gibbs,” she replied smartly as she bent to her task.

“Doctor Mallard, you’ve seen the packages,” Palmer observed as he scurried into Autopsy with an armload of films. 

“Yes, Mr. Palmer, let’s take a look at these, shall we?” Ducky expertly flipped all the switches with a quick wave of his hand while Jimmy slipped the films under the clips on the viewer. “Ah, yes…” Ducky pointed to one film for Gibbs’ benefit. “I’m assuming this one to be yours?”

The lead agent grunted in recognition at the ghost of a bottle of Jack next to a hazy coil with a curiously shaped darker object attached. Trying to make head or tails of the two-dimensional, monochromatic images, he scrutinized the x-rays while Ducky and Jimmy conferred between themselves, occasionally raising a point to bring him into the discussion. The scans of the packages from all angles showed what appeared to be innocent gifts. With that in mind, the three men went up to Abby’s lab to see what the agents had found.

When they arrived, they found Ziva standing over the presents spread across the worktable, her knife toying with the tape on the blue and silver package. Seeing Gibbs enter, she secreted her knife away in her sleeve. Abby had AFIS scrolling through its database on a series of prints lifted from various sources and McGee was hunched over her workstation computer, typing rapidly as he stared intently at the monitor.

“What have you got?”

Abby spun around. “Gibbs! I got a bunch of prints. First, I ran them with just Tony and any known associates of Zaccharia and got no hits. Now, I’m running them on the entire database. Other than that, the packages were unremarkable – no unusual substances, no questionable residues… I think they’re just presents. But why—”

“McGee!”

“Yes, Boss. Uh…” He overlayed his report over the ongoing AFIS search on the plasma. “The Montana Skies Artisanal Collaborative was founded in 1965 as a Native American art colony. They are committed to supporting various native artisans and giving them a supportive atmosphere to explore their craft and preserve their heritage as well as a venue to meld various artforms into products to sell to the public. Much of their work is done solely with traditional methods and tools and most of their materials are generated either onsite or through indigenous channels to help support local tribes worldwide. I’ve spoken with the local police as well as the nearby reservation police and they are well aware of the Collaborative and speak very highly of the organization. The office opens in two hours.”

“What about the money trail?”

“I checked Tony’s bank accounts and there have been no new transactions whatsoever, aside from his automatic bill payments, since two weeks before he went missing—“ McGee nervously gauged Gibbs’ reaction before continuing, “however, there was a payment to the MSAC in early September, just before Tony went fully undercover.”

Gibbs pinched the bridge of his nose as any hope this was the lead they had hoped for plummeted. “So, what you’re saying is Tony ordered the gifts in advance and arranged for them to be shipped here,” he stated.

“I won’t have confirmation until I speak with the director of the Collaborative, but, yes, that’s what it appears to be. I’ll be sure to double and triple check everything,” he added before Gibbs could reinforce that rule.

Gibbs nodded dispiritedly. “Good work, McGee – everyone. Let me know when you get through to them. I want all of you back here at 1200 for lunch. My treat.” Turning, he gave Ducky’s shoulder a pat and Abby a peck on the cheek as he strode out of the lab.

000

 

His arms piled high with pizza, Gibbs shouldered his way into Abby’s lab with Ziva on his heels with bags full of soda. Setting them down on a free workbench, he turned to survey the subdued group assembled there. When McGee had finally reached Jeremy Horne, the art collaborative’s director, he and his junior agent both had a protracted talk with him about his missing agent. As it turned out, Tony had purchased various items from them several times over the years, starting with his knife belt, and had formed somewhat of a long-distance friendship with the man. Jeremy had detailed Tony’s request that the package be shipped to Abby if he didn’t get back from his assignment in time for the holiday and faxed them all the information and correspondence they had had. Seeing all the evidence in front of him, Gibbs had to admit it was yet another dead end. A poignant reminder of what they didn’t have.

Despite the incredible aromas which wafted through the lab, everyone picked at their pizza, each singularly lost in their thoughts after the disappointment of the day. Even Abby failed to muster some enthusiasm. When it was obvious lunch was winding down, Gibbs walked over to the pile of packages, fiddling with them aimlessly. Picking one up, he went to McGee, wordlessly handing it to him before going back to the pile. He handed each one out in turn before ending up with one last gaily wrapped package with his name on it.

“Gibbs. I can’t…” Blackened tears slipped unchecked down Abby’s porcelain cheeks as she sat, twirling side to side on her stool with her gift in her lap.

He shook his head, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Abs, he made damn sure you’d get it,” he intoned softly. “Open it.”

Her hands shook as she tore through the paper. Opening the box, a choked gasp escaped her lips as she lifted a soft black leather collar adorned with delicately carved jade crosses, which matched the tattoo on her lower back. Matching wrist cuffs followed. 

Awestruck, she offered it to Gibbs. “They’re beautiful. Feel them – they’re like butter.” She fumbled with her collar, swiftly replacing it with the new one and then the cuffs as well. Crumpling the piece of paper in her hands, she struggled to read the note through her tears:

_'Merry Christmas, my dark angel!_

_I won’t admit to how I got a picture of the cross for them to work off, but people with glass offices shouldn’t get nekkid when people with camera phones are lurking! Ha! Gotcha! I know you would have let me get a picture honestly, but it was more fun this way!!! Kinda like Mission: Impossible meets Elvira. Hope to see you soon! Give everyone a hug for me._

_Love ya to bits!_

_T'_

“They are absolutely lovely, Abigail,” Ducky murmured softly. “They match your eyes almost exactly,” he noted as he bent close to examine the intricate pale green stone carvings and lightly finger the soft leather before granting her a gentle kiss on the forehead.

Sniffling, Abby nodded earnestly with a watery smile. “What did you get, Duckman?”

The medical examiner looked at his package in embarrassment. “I… um… Well, let’s see now, shall we?” He carefully opened one end of the package and slid the box out. Opening it hesitantly, he softly uttered, “Oh, my… Anthony…” He lifted a large book, its entire binding richly embossed leather with gilt edged pages. Opening it, he reverently turned the pages, his eyes filled with wonder.

“It’s beautiful, Doctor Mallard. What is the book about?” Jimmy asked curiously.

“It is _‘The History of the British Empire’_ , published in 1922. It was my father’s. Tyson, one of mother’s corgis destroyed the binding and quite a few pages when mother forgot to put it away. I could not bring myself to throw it out despite the condition it was in. Mother always said it brought her closer to Father; we both cherished this book so. I thought mother misplaced it during one of her visits home when I found it missing.’ 

‘It appears Tony had it totally restored and rebound. I cannot begin to fathom where he found replacements for the missing pages… See here? They even restored the frontispiece where Tyson put his upper canines through.” He took off his glasses to wipe at his face before replacing them to look in appreciation at all his friends’ understanding smiles as he smoothed his hands over the precious tome. Releasing a deep sigh, he looked over at his protégé. “Mr. Palmer, the x-ray of your package intrigued me, why don’t you open yours now?”

Setting his package on his knees, Jimmy chewed his lower lip as he opened it. Lifting the lid off, he read the note lying across the top:

_‘Merry, Merry, Jimmy!_

_Here’s a little something to make an entrance at all those crime scenes. If you’re gonna be an NCIS coroner, you gotta look as stylish as the rest of us! Good luck at school – you’re in the home stretch now. We’re all rooting for ya!_

_Tony’_

Swallowing hard, Jimmy reached under the note to withdraw a warm brown fedora with a woven leather band adorned with small ebony cabochons set in silver, each carved with a caduceus except two, one in the front engraved with the NCIS emblem and the other, in the back, with _‘Niger Pulmo’_ etched in an intricate script. Jimmy caressed the hat tenderly as he looked at it from every angle.

With a chorus of encouragement, Jimmy shyly donned the hat, dipping it rakishly to the amusement of everyone before sliding it back on his head to watch the rest of the proceedings.

Ziva impetuously picked up her package and proclaimed, “I shall open mine now.” While Ziva wasn’t accustomed to celebrating the holidays the way most Americans did, she had come to enjoy the comfortable, easy way the team observed that time of year. She neatly sliced the tape to slide the small box free. A note was affixed to the lid. Reading it, her eyebrows popped and a sly smile radiated across her face when she peeked inside the box.

Abby bounced beside her, a plea in her eyes. Ziva passed her the note with a grin as she pulled her gift into view.

_‘Happy Hanukah, Zeeeeeeeeeevahhhh!!!_

_I was tempted to get you a leather bikini but thought this ‘intimate article’ would be safer! Just make sure you think of me every time you put it on, my little ninja._

_All my best for a happy new year!_

_Tony'_

Abby looked from the note to the object in Ziva’s hands and let out a happy laugh. Only Tony and Ziva would consider a back-up holster ‘intimate’, though Abby had a good idea where this was supposed to be worn, so it wasn’t as much of a stretch as it would first appear. It was made of the same soft leather as her collar but left with its natural color rather than dyed. A Star of David was delicately stitched on it in gold with a stylized _‘Z’_ branded in the background. Abby watched in surprise as Ziva then slipped shiny twin throwing knives out of the seams, hefting the fine metal blades speculatively as she got a feel for their balance. With a flick of her wrist, one flew across the room, hitting Abby’s Nerf dartboard dead center. With a satisfied smile, Ziva hopped off the table and retrieved her knife before returning to her seat.

“Much better than a bikini,” she agreed with an assured nod of her head. “I shall treasure this.”

Standing between Ziva and McGee, Abby peered over the junior agent’s shoulder to look at his present in anticipation. “Your turn, Timmy,” she proclaimed. “Your box smells awesome!”

“Um, uh, yeah, it does,” he admitted as he looked self-consciously at the package. As much as he wanted to share this moment with his friends, it still felt incredibly personal and he couldn’t shake the feeling that opening the gift without Tony there would jinx his friend ever returning.

“Tim.”

His boss’ voice was ‘nice’ but firm. Unyielding.

“It’s okay to open it.”

McGee would never know how Gibbs could always seem to be able to read his mind, he simply hoped it just wasn’t all the time. Reluctantly, he slipped a finger through a seam and popped the tape at one end then pulled the box free. Slowly flipping the lid, the scent of fine leather and even finer tobacco rose from the box to tantalize his nose. He fished out a leather pouch, turning it gently in his shaking hands. Around the pouch a badge, a gun, the cover design from his first book, _‘Deep Six’_ , a computer and a typewriter were embossed in startling detail with _“Thom E. Gemcity”_ branded in an elegant font with decorative flourishes on the flap. Digging deeper into the box, Tim pulled out a large tin of sweet-smelling tobacco from La Cote de Pablo aboriginal plantation in Chile. Opening the tin to fully breathe in the aroma, his emotions grappled in wonder at his gift and, even more, his realization of Tony’s first true public recognition of what it meant to him to be a writer. At a loss for words, he mutely passed the tin around so everyone could enjoy a lungful of the pleasing aroma as he solemnly stared at the pouch in his hands.

All eyes turned to Gibbs. The lead agent drew a deep breath before resolutely ripping open his package. The bottle of Jack Daniels came as no surprise to anyone, the other gift, on the other hand, received the attention it deserved. Gibbs uncoiled a soft leather belt from the box, hefting it to look at the pair of Marine emblems and mottos on the tail rendered in some of the most intricate beadwork and embroidery they had ever seen, set in such a way that they would center on either side of the buckle when the belt was fastened. Towards the back of the belt, he found a small pocket hidden along one seam. Turning it over, Gibbs’ eyebrows lifted when he saw _“Rule #9”_ embroidered next to the buckle where the tail would cover it. With a gentle tug, he suddenly withdrew the buckle to reveal it was the hilt of a knife.

“It’s just like Tony’s knife belt,” Abby observed excitedly. “Gibbs, the beadwork is wonderful. Look at how detailed it is – there must be hundreds of beads!”

Replacing the knife and studiously examining the mechanism which held it in place, he gruffly grunted in reply; the way his hands unconsciously glided over the leather belying his true feelings. The ringing of his cell phone interrupted anything further.

“Gibbs!” He listened closely then snapped the phone shut and took in his two agents. “Gear up. We’ve got a body.” Reverently coiling his new belt and grabbing his bottle, he charged for the elevator with his two agents at his heels.

000

  



	4. Chapter 4

  


_He fell and, as his world grayed into an eerie miasmic netherworld, McGregor heard his partners’ guns join in a strangely comforting stereo staccato from either side of where he lay through the wheezing gasps of his own breath. The burn from the bullet intensified as his chest warmed with the sticky heat of his own blood, briefly bringing him back to reality as Tibbs hovered over him, pressing both palms over the entry wound._

_“Stay with me, Tim! You’re gonna be fine. The ambulance is on its way!”_

_Peering through the lingering mists, McGregor thought he saw something akin to fear flash across Tibbs’ eyes before allowing his head to roll towards the movement at the corner of his eye when Agent Lisa dashed into view._

_“Secure his weapon; check the girl,” the senior agent ordered. “As soon as the paramedics arrive, get them over here. He has a chest wound; no exit.”_

_In the end, it came down to good, honest police work of the sort Tommy had always asserted was the root of any investigation. McGregor, himself, had cracked the case wide open with an interview which also yielded a pocketful of phone numbers from the local co-eds which would have made Agent Tommy proud. With the final pieces of the puzzle in place, McGregor was able to conclude that the teenaged daughter’s boyfriend had killed the family. Once confrontation seemed inevitable, the young man took her with him on the cross-country chase which led to McGregor being shot and the young man killed in a hail of bullets._

_Doctor Brant would find six bullets in the young man’s chest, the cluster from the two guns being so tight, they had ricocheted off each other and ended up as bits of twisted and fused metal throughout his thoracic cavity, his heart little more than shredded scraps of tissue. Goosie would see and catalog the graphic evidence of a team’s desperate need to protect their own. For, as much as their team had always been the most prolific, efficient and feared team in the Agency, with Tommy’s disappearance, they had closed ranks to a degree which frightened even other Agency teams._

_For the members of the team, however, this brush with Death once again illuminated their own mystifying loss…_

000

 

_McGregor woke slowly in a body which protested its very existence. Below his right clavicle, he burned in a radiating ache which went all the way to his fingertips. His left hand was encased in a warm cocoon, with gentle strokes across the back lulling him back towards slumber and peace. A pair of wide green eyes ringed in black suddenly popped into view; blood red lips parted into a joyous smile._

_“Timmy, you’re awake!” Amy exclaimed happily. She leaned over to kiss him on the forehead before bouncing back into her seat, squeezing his hand in excitement as she sat._

_McGregor weakly wiggled his fingers against the rapidly tightening grasp._

_“Oh! Sorry,Timmy,“ Amy loosened her hold, cupping her other hand around it as if to ensure he didn’t slip away. “How are you feeling?” she enquired._

_“Like I’ve been shot,” he rasped out. He paused to breathe more deeply from the steady flow of the cannula._

_Much to his amazement, Amy bopped him in the arm. “Well, of course, silly!” Helping him take a quick sip of water, she suddenly sobered. “I was so afraid, Timmy; you’ve been out for three days. You were talking with Kate when they took the tube out.”_

_“I was?” He reflected on that quietly as he rolled his swollen tongue in his mouth. Even though he still felt incredibly foggy, he vividly remembered his visit with the fallen Agent Dodd. Glancing shyly at the forensic tech, he admitted, “I remember seeing her. She told me it wasn’t my time yet.”_

_“Oooh! Did she send me a message?”_

_He shook his head slightly, rethinking that maneuver when the pain in his chest flared insistently. “No. Not really. She pretty much just sent me back.”_

_Amy chewed her lip uncertainly, fear and hope warring in her luminous eyes. “Did you see anyone else?”_

_The question hung in the air between the two of them for several heartbeats before he replied definitively, “No, no one.” Pausing to think for a minute he asked, “Amy?” He licked his lips, pursing them before continuing, “Uh… Could we just keep this between the two of us?”_

_A soft sound drew his attention to the foot of the bed where Lisa had blended into the shadows. Her limpid eyes watched him unblinkingly as a relieved smile slowly graced her features. McGregor glanced back into Amy’s knowing expression in time to see Tibbs drift into view behind her; the moonlight reflecting off his silver hair as he rested his hands on her shoulders._

_McGregor watched anxiously as his gruff superior leaned past Amy, a hand outstretched, incredulous that he would cuff him at a time like this yet knowing he had done much worse when Agent Tommy was at death’s door with Anthrax. Yet, instead of the expected slap, he felt the agent firmly grasp his good shoulder, giving it a gentle, affirming squeeze._

_“Between the four of us, Tim… Just promise us you won’t go visiting her again anytime soon. You did good work. I’m proud of you, Timothy.”_

_Even as his heart warmed at the rare praise, McGregor finally understood what Agent Tommy meant when he said Tibbs was not Tibbs when he was nice. From the moment Tommy had disappeared, there had been changes in the senior agent – his obsession with finding his missing second was a palpable force in their lives now; he stopped calling Lisa ‘Liser’ and McGregor ‘Mah-Gregor’; McGregor knew he no longer worked on his boat, instead spending hours obsessively chasing down no longer existent leads in the murky hours before dawn – but, thus far, he had remained the taciturn man McGregor had come to know, fear and respect._

_Until now._

_In some corner of his mind, McGregor felt a fear he couldn’t quite quantify, but he knew the source of his disquiet. Tibbs was being nice and, in that moment, McGregor realized perhaps Tibbs’ being nice was some sort of grudging concession that Tommy may never be coming back. At that moment, McGregor came to the perverse realization that he never wanted to see Tibbs nice again. He wanted that head slap. He wanted cold, second b is for bastard Tibbs. He wanted the twisted, unwavering hope only his mentor could give him, no matter how increasingly unrealistic. He only wished Tommy was there to snap him out of it…_

Tim stiffly straightened with a sigh, cautiously stretching his good arm over his head as he felt the sharp pull across his chest. Grasping the top edge of the paper in his good hand, the paper came readily with a practiced tug. The satisfying sound and feel of paper chittering free from the typewriter could never grow old as far as he was concerned. He would swing the completed manuscript by Lyndi’s office tomorrow on his way to work. The two weeks he was off were finally over and he would be back to work, sitting at his desk, in the morning. His new novel was as finished as it would ever be – aside from the numerous edits Lyndi always inflicted upon him.

It had been slow going; first with Tony’s undercover op and then disappearance, Tim had found it hard to write about the team’s dynamics, then, with his injury, typing took him forever one-handed.

Tim sighed softly as he reached for the leather pouch. He opened it reverently, his fingers caressing the lettering across the soft leather as the aroma of the tobacco reached his nostrils. He had checked out the plantation the tobacco had come from on the internet only to find a hint of to what degree Tony had particular tastes. The Cote de Pablo plantation was situated on the lush soil which surrounded an extinct volcano in a tiny valley where the Central Andes dipped near the Pacific Ocean and was the ancestral home of an obscure tribe of indigenous Araucanian Indians who tilled, harvested and cured the tobacco by hand. This tobacco was a special thing which was meant to be savored and he often found himself reaching for the pouch without even thinking about it, if only to open it and hold it against his chest to bask in the twin smells of leather and tobacco.

Breathing deeply, Tim smiled as memories tugged at his subconscious. Impulsively fingering his pipe, he tamped a fingerful of tobacco into the bowl. He surveyed his desk thoughtfully before awkwardly rising, the pipe clamped tightly in his teeth while he shifted his right arm back into the sling. Quickly rummaging through the kitchen drawers, he found a lighter, tipping it into the bowl as he puffed. As soon as the tobacco caught, he tossed the lighter back onto the counter before retiring to his favorite chair to relax.

The first few puffs had him hacking with a wince as his chest drew taut with each cough before he settled into an easy rhythm, drawing just enough air into the small bundle of leaves to keep the fire going. He could almost hear Tony’s amused commentary if he could see him now. On a whim, he reached for the pouch again, slipping the tobacco stained note from inside it. Opening it, he could still make out Tony’s scrawl on that coveted sheet:

_Merry Christmas, Probie!_

_I read somewhere that scent can be a powerful catalyst to inspire the senses, invoke memories and encourage creativity. Besides, even if you don’t smoke, your pipe could use a little more character! I thought this tobacco could help inspire you when Agent Tommy and Officer Lisa give you trouble. Don’t smoke too much at one time, it could stunt your growth! I’m glad you’re on my six._

_Happy Holidays!_

_Tony, aka Tommy, the dashing dumbass_

Carefully folding the note, McGee cradled the pouch on his lap as he carefully slid the note back where it belonged. The aroma from the pipe filled the small room with its rich ambiance, bringing a warm glow to the cool mid-winter air. Tim nursed the pipe as long as he could as he watched the sky lighten into morning. When he finally felt the pull of sleep, he rested the now cool pipe on the table next to him and allowed his eyes to drift shut to dream of dashing heroes and unexpected rescues.

000

 

As soon as the elevator dinged open, Tobias Fornell rushed out into the NCIS squad room, his harried mind intent on a singular mission. Sliding his hands into the pockets of his trench coat to relieve the tension in his shoulders, the FBI agent walked swiftly into the bullpen, rapidly gaining the attention of the two junior members of Gibbs’ team. When the silver head rose and blue eyes guardedly met his, Tobias signaled, turned on his heel and wordlessly headed back the way he came. Ziva and McGee watched curiously as their boss silently squared his shoulders to join his FBI counterpart in his office.

As soon as the elevator car started to move, Gibbs immediately hit the stop button. “What’s up?”

Fornell bowed his head to gather his strength then, with a sigh, raised his gaze to meet Gibbs’. “A few hikers stumbled across a body in a shallow grave in a park less than an hour south of here. When we went in to investigate, we found a bone yard…” He watched Gibbs’ reaction as the NCIS agent’s eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened while Gibbs braced for the news to come. “Seven complete bodies according to ground penetrating radar.”

“IDs?”

“Still working on it. We’re digging them up now. We’ll be bringing them all down to Quantico for autopsy and identification. Jethro, Antony DiSalvo’s driver’s license was found with the body the hikers found; it was tossed on top before burial – that’s why we were called in.”

Gibbs searched Fornell’s face as his gut clenched and bile raced for his throat, not wanting to hear what Tobias would say next.

“Caucasian male, approximately six feet, light brown hair, designer clothes, size twelve Italian shoes… Features long gone by now. Probably needs to be identified by dental records unless they can find some viable DNA, but he’s been out all winter from the looks of it. Our ME is saying TOD would be about three to six months ago.”

“It isn’t DiNozzo,” Gibbs insisted stubbornly, knowing even as he did it denying it wouldn’t change the truth yet grasping at that unspoken knowledge that he would know if Tony were actually dead.

His palms up, Fornell spread his arms helplessly as he followed Gibbs around the small car. “Jethro, we don’t know and we won’t know until we get him back to the lab. Any of them, for that matter.”

“Tony’s not dead,” Gibbs stated firmly. “They’re someone else…” Trying to release some of the tension in his body, he slowly rubbed his face with both hands then ran them through his hair before getting back to task. “I want copies of everything – keep Abby and Ducky in the loop. Where’s the bone yard?”

“Virginia. A park due west of Quantico. Prince William Forest Park. I’m gonna take you there right now.”

Gibbs sighed. “Okay. Lemme call McGee; let him know where I’ll be.” He whacked the elevator back on and punched the button for the garage as he fumbled in his pocket for his phone. Gibbs could feel the weird hot/cold sensation of dread building, the slight tremor through his body as it thrummed with an unspeakable fear even as his hand assuredly flipped the phone open. With a few shakily barked words, he left the Navy Yard for Virginia, hoping, for once in the past five months, to not find Tony.

000

 

Standing in the peaceful, sunlit glade, Gibbs absentmindedly contemplated the blanket of cherry blossoms carpeting the earth all around him, blanketing everything in muted whites and soft pinks. In the center of the small clearing at the bottom of the shallow ravine, the blossoms were covered by layers upon layers of sifted dirt as the FBI team attacked the ground like a gang of rabid archeologists as they searched for any possible evidence to the identity of the bodies or their killers. The digging had not gone easily – spring had arrived late to this part of Virginia and the ground still held a touch of frost. With the location of the site, heavy equipment was out of the question, necessitating the predominant use of hand tools. Gibbs and Fornell had spent all day at the edge of the clearing, watching the excavation. Each body they uncovered possibly bringing them one step closer to finding Gibbs’ missing agent.

McGee had called twice to check on their status, once with Abby audibly sobbing in the background, the second from what sounded like a closet or, perhaps, the bathroom. Ducky had called once to offer his services and give Gibbs a fatherly pep talk, reminding him to keep the faith, especially where Tony was concerned. At one point during the day, Gibbs numbly looked up to the rim of the ravine to see Vance impassively watching the proceedings.

It took two days to clear the ground and another to confirm what Gibbs had asserted all along: Tony was not among the bodies. Cale Logan, the man who initially introduced Tony to Zaccharia, was identified as the body the hikers found. The rest of the remains turned out to be several of Zaccharia’s associates the FBI had been looking for since the raids. The men had all been executed together, if the evidence was to be believed, and a few days prior to the raids according to a cracked watch.

Once the bodies were identified, the FBI returned to the site daily for the next two weeks with every free man available at Quantico, including Marine recruits and FLETC trainees, to search the park in a spiraling perimeter. Tony’s fate continued to elude them.

000

 

While Ziva and McGee took Finney down to interrogation, Gibbs trotted up to MTAC to brief the director. The lead agent was pleased another case had been solved quickly – he had yet another angle he wanted to explore in his ongoing search for Tony and Zaccharia and, with the case out of the way, he could direct the necessary NCIS assets towards it without question.

Entering the darkened room, he strode quickly down the ramp to the Director’s side where Vance was intently watching the main screen. The darkened room was lit solely by the screens all showing the same operation. Wherever it was, the area being monitored was bathed in bright daylight. He glanced quickly at the main plasma which dominated the room as the director barely acknowledged his arrival with a sideways glance and repositioning of the ever present toothpick. Something caught the lead agent’s eye and he turned to look at the video feed more intently.

“Where’s this?”

Vance shook his head. “Need to know.”

“I need to know,” the agent asserted tersely.

Shifting the toothpick to the other side of his mouth with a sideways glance, Vance sighed. “Not our hemisphere,” he hedged, before adding. “A Marine helicopter went down in a bad neighborhood; we’re looking for them. Why?”

“Zoom in right there…”

Riveted by the action in the third world marketplace, Gibbs stepped closer to the screen to watch a small group of men wending their way through the crowd. The two men in the lead clashed sharply in the teeming throng. The leader stood out in his Western clothing with his men blending in with the locals. Directly behind the apparent leader, dressed in light colors which contrasted to the traditionally dark colored clothing surrounding him, was a tall man who’d caught Gibbs’ eye. The pedestrians parted readily for the men, their distress at finding themselves in their path apparent with the aerial view. As he watched them swing wide of a vendor’s cart and got a better look, Gibbs gut clenched in certainty.

“Because that’s DiNozzo,” he explained tightly. 

The director stepped up beside the senior agent, squinting at the grainy video in disbelief. “That’s a pretty poor resolution picture… You’re sure?”

Frosty silence was his only answer.

The missing agent looked considerably leaner than Vance remembered him, his hair apparently lightened by time under the sun until the shaggy locks appeared nearly platinum against deeply tanned skin in the harsh graphics the satellite provided. He was wearing a light, short-sleeved tunic, which nearly reached his knees, and simple sandals. Bands which glistened in the sun were apparent on his throat, wrists and ankles.

Vance leaned back to address one of the technicians over his shoulder. “Mike, tighten the feed up. If we can get a good shot, I want to run a facial recognition on him and the guy in front of him. Any chance we can get a high-res satellite on this?”

“It’ll be in range in about eleven hours,” the technician supplied.

Gibbs spared a brief moment to glare impatiently at the tech. “There’s nothing sooner?” he growled huskily.

“No. Sorry, Agent Gibbs. The closest one has been having trouble, so they have it down for a new uplink. ETA on that is about 19 hours.”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair in frustration, the agent turned back to the screen just in time to see a closer view of the group as they turned into an open air café. The man in the lead warmly greeted a man waiting for him before settling himself at a table. His men lounged nearby, alertly watching the proceedings. His heart pounding in his ears, Gibbs watched incredulously as Tony gracefully knelt next to the feet of the leader, clasped his hands at the small of his back and bowed his head. He was so caught up by the shocking scene, the lead agent barely registered the unmistakable sound of a toothpick snapping.

“Christ…” His eyes glued to the screen, Vance barked at the techs, “Get Agent Jardine in here.” 

“Where’d the copter crash?” Gibbs asked urgently. His fingers clenched painfully when the man languorously stroked a possessive hand over Tony’s shoulder.

“About thirty miles inland from there. It’s the closest town to the crash site.”

The former Marine nodded as his mind raced. “How many men?”

The director shook his head. “Including the crew, we’re missing up to five men. We were able to identify two bodies in the wreckage by satellite, but were unable to retrieve them before the locals got there. They’re off the _Essex_ , which is holding position until they can be located.”

Nicole Jardine scurried down the ramp, a file tightly clenched in her arms.

Before she could utter a word, Vance demanded, “What have you managed to dig up?”

“There’s not much intel from the area. What isn’t total anarchy is largely tribal with strong anti-American leanings. That particular port is a known pirate haven; the international shipping lanes have been altered to avoid that entire area.” She turned a page with her sleeve-covered hand. “There is a vigorous drug trade in the region and it is on several arms and terrorism watch lists.” She looked up from her notes expectantly.

“Your boy sure knows how to pick ‘em,” Vance commented drily out the corner of his mouth as he flicked the remainder of his toothpick into a nearby receptacle and then absently fumbled in his pocket for another one. Noticing Jardine nervously shifting from foot to foot, he dismissed her, “Keep trying. We need as much intel as we can get.”

With a curious glance at the screen, she gave both men a wide berth as she rushed from MTAC.

Gibbs nodded towards the screen. “What else do we know? Any idea where this guy comes from? He looks like a potential player. If he’s a big enough threat in the area, the locals may have brought the Marines to him.”

“Zoom out. Let’s get a lay of the land,” Vance ordered. He hated to lose the visual of the agent and could see Gibbs quivering with nervous energy as the café faded into a small square on the screen. “There’s a large estate about fifteen miles northwest of the town center; it’s maybe twenty or so miles from the crash site. The coast itself is extremely rocky – lots of reefs and cliffs. Much of the rest of the area is desert scrub or irrigated farmland.” He glanced at his senior agent, who was agitatedly kneading his thumbs in his fists as he hovered on the balls of his feet. 

As the satellite repositioned, the coordinates quickly flashed on the screen. Gibbs’ eyes widened as the numbers scrolled by.

“Tony, what did you find?” he muttered to himself. Decisively, he turned to his boss. “Keep an eye on him, I need to check something.”

Vance’s eyes narrowed as the agent rushed from the room.

000

  



	5. Chapter 5

  


McGee glanced at his watch then back to the subject on the other side of the window with a sigh. Even given Gibbs’ strategy of softening suspects up by making them wait, he still had been quite a while. Ziva had long ago grabbed the only free chair and was aimlessly manipulating one of her knives in a manner McGee would never dare question her about. Kurt, the recording technician, lounged quietly at his post, reading a book while the machines ran on automatic.

They had been pursuing the lead on Petty Officer Finney for much of the day, not catching up to him until the sun had dropped below the horizon, and Tim was exhausted. He hadn’t slept well for months and his free time was occupied by Gibbs’ frequent off the record requests and the new edits Lyndi wanted from him.

In the other room, Finney anxiously fidgeted, his hands in constant motion from rubbing his palms on his thighs to intertwining his fingers then back again, his eyes darting at the slightest sound. Tony referred to this interrogation method as ‘rocking the baby’ and had explained to McGee when he was a newly probationary agent the psychological impact Gibbs’ signature move had on a suspect. 

Making a small circuit of the observation room to relieve the tension building in his body from standing still so long, Tim once again leaned his shoulder on the window frame and allowed his head to rest on the cool glass with an unintentional thud. He grimaced when, in both rooms, heads snapped up at the sound. 

Smiling apologetically to his partner, he mumbled, “Sorry about that.”

Ziva returned her scrutiny to her knife with an upraised eyebrow.

The door to interrogation abruptly slammed open and Gibbs stormed into the room to tower over the suspect. “Tell me NOW! WHY?!”

McGee nearly fell backwards in surprise, only caught by Ziva as she rushed to the observation window, her own mouth agape. Behind them, Kurt clattered upright in his seat and hurriedly fumbled for his headphones.

“I didn’t do anything!” Finney gasped, his eyes rounded in fear.

“WHY?!” the agent roared.

“I… I didn’t--” He jumped visibly when Gibbs’ hand crashed into the table next to his elbow.

“Tell. Me. NOW!” the senior agent gritted as he rested his hands on either side of the suspect’s and crouched low to glare across the table into the other man’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to--!”

McGee mutely watched his superior not move so much as a muscle, locked into position in front of the suspect. He exchanged a troubled look with Ziva, his mouth suddenly dry when his own shock was mirrored back at him by the usually unflappable former assassin. His boss loomed over the suspect while Finney soundlessly opened his mouth and then closed it again.

“I swear I didn’t want it to happen!” Finally finding his voice while paling rapidly, Finney tried to avert his eyes but kept finding his attention drawn back to the unyielding stare. “Honest! I… She…” His words caught in his throat then, suddenly, he slumped back to study his hands in his lap. “I thought she loved me… We’d had a fight. I just went to talk to her but her father got in my face…” His Adam’s apple bobbed as the blue eyes mere inches away bored through him. “I didn’t want it to happen but, before I knew it, they were both dead,” he sobbed.

Gibbs straightened and spun towards the window on his way out of interrogation. “McGee, Ziva, with me. Saunders,” he addressed the security guard in the open door. “Bring him back down to lock-up. We’re done with him.”

McGee frantically dashed out the door behind his partner to follow Gibbs’ disappearing back as he turned down the hallway. They caught up to him at the elevator which was now the subject of his disapproval. Gibbs repeatedly stabbed at the lit button impatiently, as if that would bring the car faster, then immediately forged into the elevator when the door slid open. The car had barely begun to move when Gibbs chopped the emergency switch and briskly turned to face his two junior agents.

_Tibbs took a steadying breath as he studied his agents. “We’ve located Tommy,” he informed them tersely._

_McGregor’s mouth dropped open. He tried to form a coherent thought but even the autonomic action of breathing seemed to momentarily elude him. He swayed in place as the blood roared in his ears._

_Agent Lisa rested a delicate hand on McGregor’s arm as she lithely stepped towards their superior. “Alive. Yes?” Off his curt nod she added, “Where?”_

_“Need to know. Not this continent. He’s being tracked by satellite as we speak.” Tibbs shook his head incredulously. “We don’t really have any idea what’s going on or how he got there. What I need from you, McGregor, are those files Tommy brought us on those flash things back in October. I think I know what some of those numbers mean.”_

_“I’ll get right on it, Boss.”_

_“Lisa, we’ll probably need some intel from your contacts. What we have is limited and not expected to get much better.”_

_“Of course, Tibbs.”_

_“Good.” He switched the elevator back on and hit the button for the bullpen._

_They rode in silence, each reeling from the unexpected news. It had been nearly six long months of searching. Six months of grasping at straws and hoping against despair. While it wouldn’t be over until he was home safe, that there was even a possibility of Tommy's safe return after all this time energized them as nothing else could._

_Rushing behind his desk, McGregor hastily accessed the file which had troubled him for so long. He had put it through every possible decoding program and had not yet found the key to breaking it. “Bringing the file up on the plasma now, Boss.” McGregor’s fingers flew over the keyboard. When the plasma sprang to life, he rose with alacrity, snatched the control from the top of the file cabinet and confidently strode towards the screen._

_His eyes locked onto the screen, Tibbs stalked towards the plasma. “Scroll down. Wait. There it is. Right there. Make this one into coordinates, starting here.”_

_“I tried coordinates before but nothing came up. There are too many numbers.”_

_Tibbs impatiently pointed at the screen again. “Start here and use decimals. It should end here or here. Ignore the extras for now; just try it!” he commanded in frustration._

_Looking askance at his superior, McGregor couldn’t shake the feeling that Tibbs’ obsession had finally begun to cloud his judgment to the point that it was a crippling liability. With a quick glance at Lisa to see doubts flicker across her face as well, he reviewed the numbers, working with them as ordered. Once he got a number which was actually on a landmass, albeit barely on the coast, he turned to Tibbs for guidance._

_Tibbs stood at his desk with his phone to his ear. “Mike, let me run these numbers by you. Yeah, I know it’s need to know. Is Lance still up there? Give me Lance then.” Without preamble, he recited the numbers to the Director, listening intently to the answer before a look of triumph radiated across his face._

_“Lisa, make the calls. Tommy is being kept at an estate about fifteen miles northwest of this port. A Black Hawk went down thirty miles due west from the port or about twenty miles from the estate. McGregor, try triangulating, so we can get a rough idea of what we’re dealing with.” Tibbs watched intently as the computer expert added the new information to the map already on the plasma while Lisa spoke rapidly in Turkish behind him. Leaning forward slightly, Tibbs kept his eyes locked on the screen as he rose onto his toes, instinctively absorbing everything going on around him as his mind reviewed the information they had and what else they might need to get Tommy home safe. Seeing everything was covered for the time being, he nodded to himself then looked over at the younger agent. “Tim, work with the rest of the numbers. The numbers on either side might tell you where the decimals go. If this is their pipeline, it’s about to get shut down.”_

_Barely glancing up from his monitor, McGregor assured, “On it, Boss.”_

_Tibbs grabbed his jacket and strode rapidly to the elevator, leaving his agents, each to do what they did best. Lisa tirelessly worked her contacts, teasing small tidbits of information from each one as she went. McGregor, on the other hand, carefully worked each number independently until he found the key to the puzzle. Once a pattern was established, he fed the information into the computer and watched as one point of interest after another began to blossom across the global map. Occasionally a coordinate required some added attention, an extra number used to bring it to land but most of them simply fell into place as McGregor monitored the results._

_A short while later, Tibbs returned, a tray of coffee cups in his hand and a very resolute Goosie in tow. Placing one at each of his agents’ desks, he sat down and took a long sip from one of the two remaining cups before asking, “Whaddaya have for me?”_

_Lisa stepped forward with a coyly raised eyebrow at her partner, who readily yielded the floor by passing the control to her. “The port in question is mainly controlled by a Branz Fouvier.” She clicked the remote and the man’s Interpol mug shot came up on the screen. “He trades in a variety of illegal goods -- mainly large and small arms but also drugs, ivory, blood diamonds and other assorted contraband -- and is suspected to be a major supplier of munitions to several terrorist groups. Fouvier's cover is as an internationally recognized horse breeder. His ties to Saccharia are strongly suspected but nebulous at best. He is considered extremely dangerous but exceptionally careful. He has been on Interpol’s and Mossad’s watch lists for a few years now but they have never been able to establish a strong enough case to take him out.’_

_‘Customs records show Fouvier last visited the United States four days before our raid on Saccharia’s estate. He arrived via KLM with three horses for an auction in Maryland and left six days later with four different horses.” Turning to face her superior, she tipped her head to add, “One of my contacts has indicated he may have had ties to Rene Benoit.” She stepped back with finality, handing the remote off to her partner as the three men digested her revelations._

_Shaking off the numbing realization of how Tommy’s cover may have been blown, McGregor indicated the plasma. “Rendering the first several digits of the numbers as decimal locators and the next dozen or so as coordinates with letter qualifiers in a couple cases denoting a negative sign, we have an international web of ports, mainly ocean ports but a few river ports as well, and seventeen airports or landing strips. However, we still have anywhere from four to twenty-three extra digits left in each case.”_

_“Perhaps, an additional address?” Goosie inquired as he leaned against Tibbs’ desk while he considered the screen._

_Tibbs leaned back in his chair while he impassively studied their findings. “Most local ports to us?”_

_McGregor clicked the control, zeroing in on the Eastern Seaboard while he answered readily, “Baltimore, Wilmington, Norfolk. Next closest after that is Miami or Boston, then nothing until pretty far south in the Caribbean or up into Labrador.”_

_“Mexico?”_

_The screen zoomed south before stopping._

_“A few. Then some pretty big hops down Central and South America.”_

_“Of the three most local to us, which one has the fewest numbers left over?”_

_McGregor consulted his notes. “That would be Norfolk, Boss.”_

_With a nod at Lisa, Tibbs rocked forward and sprang to his feet. “Go home; get some rest. First thing tomorrow, you’re going to Norfolk.”_

_“Uh, Boss?” When Tibbs spun on him, McGregor swallowed and indicated the plasma with a nervous but determined tip of his head. “One more thing. When I was able to automate the coordinate search, I tried Google Mapping the area north of that port.” He brought an image up on the screen then dramatically zoomed it down to street level to show a jumble of buildings surrounded by cultivated green pastures, which conspicuously stood out in the otherwise more desolate region. “I think this is where they have Tommy. It’s the only place like it in the area.”_

_They all crowded around the screen to look at the large, sprawling estate, its lush gardens and paddocks radiating out from a rambling villa with a centralized courtyard. Somewhere in that complex, Tommy had been hidden away from the world all this time while they desperately searched half a world away. Even knowing that the imagery could be years old, they each scrutinized it for some sign of him._

_Each making the same solemn vow: they would get Tommy back…_

000

 

Doctor Donald Mallard slowly wandered down the ramp into MTAC in search of his friend. Seeing the silver head bent over paperwork in the front row, he allowed his eyes to drift to the screen, catching sight of the estate for the first time. Some edges of the scene were partially obscured by clouds, but the main building and central courtyard were readily visible. Ducky could see a single golden body swimming laps in the large pool while several men congregated in small groups around it. Franz Bouvier and the man he had met in the café sat away from the others, being waited on regularly where they reclined on matching chaises.

“Jethro, it’s quite late. Are you going home at all tonight?”

The pen didn’t pause as a negative grunt was given in reply.

Frowning in concern, the coroner eased into the next seat with a sigh. He watched the screen curiously. “Is that Anthony in the pool?”

Blue eyes flashed to the screen and then returned to the papers in his lap. “Yeah. He’s been swimming for over an hour. Mike, could you zoom in on the plasma for Duck?”

As Tony came into better focus, Ducky’s eyebrows rose; Jethro hadn’t warned him about the absence of body hair or the golden adornments. “Have they said anything more since we last spoke?”

“They’re talking at least another forty-eight hours of surveillance if not more before making the assault. We still haven’t seen the Marines, but everyone agrees it’s most likely they’re there. They really want a visual though.”

“Isn’t Anthony’s captivity enough reason for an immediate rescue?”

The words dripped with derision. “They determined he’s in no immediate peril, so he can wait until they’re ready.”

“What idiocy!”

“Has everyone gone home?”

Ducky blinked in astonishment. “Actually, they’re all outside, hoping you’ll allow them a peek.” He held a hand in abeyance when the agent’s head snapped up to focus on him. “It’s been well over seven months since they’ve seen him, Jethro. Once he went in deep, they didn’t even have the luxury of your brief weekly visits. I have explained the nature of his captivity. They are prepared for anything.”

“No.”

“They are not going home regardless,” he warned.

Gibbs rose, his clipboard clattering to the floor in his wake as he headed to the exit ramp. “They’ll go home if I tell them to…”

_“Jethro, they are not Anthony!”_

As Ducky’s retort echoed in the sudden silence of the room, Gibbs froze in place before turning to icily face the coroner where he had risen behind him. All the technicians in the room stilled as the tension thickened between the two old friends.

Ducky’s voice softened yet remained firm. “They are not and they never shall be. Only he would unquestionably obey an order such as that coming from you and even _he_ would contemplate debating the point and seek an end run to obey the spirit of the command while still doing what needed to be done.”

Gibbs faltered as his eyes drifted to the screen of their own accord. “I don’t know, Duck. I just hate for them to see him like that.”

Ducky swallowed hard as he watched Tony continue to swim laps. He understood Gibbs’ hesitance, but he also had compassion for the younger peoples’ desire to see their friend and partner. “Despite the situation, he looks well,” he broached cautiously.

“He’s a damned kept pet! Did you know he ate out of his hand?” Gibbs’ finger stabbed angrily at the screen, indicating Bouvier. “Who knows what the hell else they’re doing to him!”

The medical examiner didn’t waver. “They don’t care. They simply wish to see him alive.”

Both men’s attentions were drawn back to the screen as, at a subtle signal from Bouvier, Tony hurriedly emerged from the pool, naked and dripping. An attendant rushed up to him with a towel, rapidly drying him as he stood compliantly for the man, bowing low so he could reach his head and shoulders, before striding quickly to the two men. Bouvier indicated his visitor with a dismissive wave and then shifted onto his side to watch closely as Tony knelt at the other man’s feet, his hands clasped behind his back. 

As the man lowered his feet to the ground and spread his legs, Tony dipped his head between the man’s thighs to sinuously root between the folds of his robe. Ducky’s heart plummeted as he watched Tony work to satisfy the man, his head now bobbing rhythmically as the man enthusiastically thrust up to meet him. The coroner could feel Gibbs vibrating in fury beside him as the assault continued.

When the man brutally grabbed Tony’s hair, jerking his head down and holding it tight, Tony’s hands flew apart in alarm as he struggled for breath, earning a harsh blow to the buttocks from Bouvier’s crop. The man let him up for a moment, waited for him to reposition his hands then ferociously pulled him down again and again, establishing his own punishing rhythm. The man suddenly surged to his feet, powerfully pistoning into Tony before holding him tight yet again. 

His head locked in place and the crop threatening, Tony’s body writhed against the panic of oxygen deprivation, his hand turning purple from the other grasping his wrist so tightly. Tony’s hand scrabbled to maintain his grip, his fingers fluttered uselessly in alarm, when the man sagged back into the lounge, dragging Tony with him.

Ducky and Gibbs stood stricken in place, both all too well aware of Tony’s understandably overwhelming phobia of finding himself unable to breathe as much as they were horrified at the assault. When the man released him with a pat on the head, sated, they both released the breath they had been holding while Tony fell away. Resting on his heels, he swayed in place for a moment to recover before his head snapped in the direction of Bouvier.

Even through the grainy satellite feed they could see him slightly slump then gather himself before crawling between Bouvier’s legs to give him the same attention. Obviously highly aroused by seeing the two men together, Bouvier reached completion mercifully fast. With a snap of the crop, Tony obediently climbed onto a small raised pallet between the two men, his collar clipped on a short chain to a ring inset on it. There he knelt with Bouvier’s hand idly wandering his body without reserve.

Gibbs looked over to his friend, allowing him to see the devastation spread across his face. “I’m not letting them see that,” he explained wearily.

Ducky nodded in agreement. The many horrible things he had seen man do to man over his many years, may have hardened him in ways most people who met him would never have imagined, but Tony was still a very dear friend and surrogate family member. The medical examiner impatiently ran a hand over the lock of hair which always seemed to escape onto his forehead as his eyes strayed to the screen once more. Wielding the crop to encourage him into position, Bouvier was openly fondling Tony at this point, much to the amusement of his associate.

“When he is rescued, I expect them both dead,” Ducky ground out with narrowed eyes.

“If I have anything to say about it,” Gibbs agreed heartily.

“What do I tell the others? Jethro, this doesn’t change anything as far as they’re concerned. They’re still waiting out there for your word.”

Interlocking his fingers, Gibbs pressed his palms to the top of his head as he raised his eyes and stretched in frustration while he considered the situation with a sigh. Returning to his seat, Gibbs looked up at Ducky thoughtfully, his eyes drifting to absently stare into space. Decisively, he directed a question to one of the techs. “Mike, any chance you could lift a few decent pictures? Maybe run a loop of when he was swimming?”

“Sure, Agent Gibbs. It will take a few minutes.”

“Let me know when you have it ready. How does that work for ya, Duck?”

The grateful smile came out as more of a grimace. “I wish we didn’t have to do it, but I think it’s a fair solution. We need to get him home!”

“Agent Gibbs? I have that feed for you now. We’ll continue recording live but will keep all the monitors on the loop while your team is in here.”

“Thanks, Mike. If we get too close to the end, let me know, so I can get them out of here.” Gibbs looked at the peaceful view now showing on the screen, overlaying the horrors Tony was actually experiencing. As much as he didn’t like lying to his team, the least he owed Tony was this small kindness. If they needed to know more, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. Gibbs could see many of his thoughts reflected in Ducky’s eyes.

Turning resolutely towards the door, Ducky muttered, “I’ll get them. There’s at least an hour of footage available?”

“Yeah.”

“Very well…”

Light streamed into the darkened room from the door as Ducky stood in the open doorway while he prepared the team. Once he was satisfied, he escorted them all in. Gibbs stood by the plasma, watching the young people nervously approach, their eyes constantly wandering to the screen.

Abby impulsively leapt past McGee, her mouth slack as she watched wordlessly from mere inches away. Her hand unconsciously reached as if to touch her friend through the screen then drew back to curl with its mate under her chin. After a few tries, she found her voice. “That’s Tony? Really? I mean, it looks like Tony but it doesn’t look like Tony. His hair’s so light and he’s so tanned it’s unreal. Oh my god, he’s got piercings! The last time he took me, he wouldn’t even get a tattoo…” As she remembered in her excitement to see him it wasn’t by choice, she somberly stepped back into Gibbs’ arms. “Gibbs, how did he get there?”

“I don’t know, Abs.”

“It’s so hard to believe we found him…” McGee uttered, earning a hollow grunt of agreement from Palmer, who watched the screen wide-eyed. 

Crossing her arms, Ziva chewed her lower lip as she watched the scene. Glancing over at Gibbs, she found herself directing her attention towards him rather than the view of her partner. When he neutrally returned her scrutiny, her eyebrow slowly rose in question. His chin lifted guardedly in reply.

'Not now.'

Stepping closer to the screen, Ziva observed, “It appears to be a very difficult target to strike. Hostile area with very little cover, large building without any notable central axis, several outer buildings, high walls and fences, a guard rotation of sorts – I assume mostly locals, yes? Have they located where the Marines are being held yet?”

Grateful for the distraction, Gibbs responded, “Not yet. We’re maintaining twenty-four hour surveillance. We haven’t seen any signs of prisoners – stationed guards, food being delivered, anything like that – but it’s only been a few hours. I’m hoping when the sun goes down we might see something.”

She nodded in agreement.

“His hair’s so long, Gibbs,” Abby breathed. “He must hate it.”

Gibbs met Ducky’s eyes across the dimly lit room as everyone watched Tony swim back and forth. 

The room exploded in light when all the screens unexpectedly flared and fizzed before going black, leaving everyone blinking back the spots which danced before their eyes in the sudden dark. 

As the room lights came up, the technicians stridently went through their diagnostic protocols before Davis, their supervisor, apologetically informed Gibbs, “It looks like that satellite repair didn’t hold. We’re looking at being down for at least a few hours. We’ll call you when we’re back online.”

“Would you like any help with that?” McGee offered. His fingers itched to get on a keyboard.

Abby looked to the supervisor hopefully, ready to jump in as well. “I could help, too. Or I could call Ashton and see if he can fix it. He’s really good with satellites, he maintains NASA’s array. Maybe we could use one of their satellites...”

Davis shook his head definitively. “No, thanks; I think we’ve got it covered. Don’t worry; we have all the available satellites working on this now.”

Sighing in disappointment, the team filed out of MTAC and wandered down to the bullpen. McGee and Ziva were both sent home with strict orders to not report for work before 1000 and Abby and Palmer were not to be a minute early. Ducky invited Gibbs down to Autopsy for a very late nightcap before going home themselves. The two men sat in silence in the big, stainless steel dominated room where they could see their warped reflections in nearly every surface, quietly sipping their drinks as their minds drifted in the safety the solace of a longstanding friendship provided. Once they were sure everyone else had long gone home, they took the elevator directly to MTAC and, thanking the techs for clearing the room with their impressive fireworks display, resumed their seats to watch Tony on the live feed.

000

  



	6. Chapter 6

  


In the muted light of MTAC, Gibbs sat forward at renewed signs of movement at the estate. Evening had fallen and, after a meal served on the veranda, most of the people had drifted inside. Elegant lanterns lit the courtyard in small pools of light while the rest of the land was bathed in the dusky indigo provided by a nearly full moon. The stables were slowly being bedded down, starting with the smaller outlying run-in barns, and now all the hands were working at the three larger barns closest to the main house, most likely two birthing barns and the main stallions’ and livestock barn as indicated by the fencing layout.

An attendant emerged from the main house with Tony in tow, the unseen leash between them obvious from both their postures. They crossed the courtyard, past the pool, and rapidly made their way towards the main stable. Once there, the attendant fastened Tony to a ring set on the end of a trough and disappeared into the barn. Clad once again in his tunic but barefoot, Tony began to stretch while he waited, touching his toes and doing slow, deep lunges then windmilling his arms and stretching his lower back. Gibbs tapped Ducky’s shoulder, waking the older man where he had been dozing. 

They both watched Tony curiously. In the midst of a series of hamstring stretches, Tony’s head suddenly snapped up, tilting his head to one side as he apparently scanned the area with his sharp hearing. Once he located the source of the sound, he peered in the direction of a small adobe shed nearby. His chains kept him immobilized as he tried to move a little closer. When the barn doors swung open, Tony snapped around, feigning nonchalance. 

“That’s gotta be our Marines,” Gibbs commented as his mind worked with the new facts to add to their list of information.

One of the techs reported over his shoulder, “I’ve notified the Director and Command.”

The attendant emerged, leading a large saddled horse. Collecting Tony’s chains, he mounted and led Tony at a slow trot through a gate and out to the perimeter of the estate. Tony jogged easily alongside the larger animal. When the horse switched to a light canter, he kept up, only dropping back a bit to provide himself enough room next to the stallion’s rear legs. They followed a well-worn path for several miles in the cool evening breezes through countryside bathed in moonlight. The last mile of their journey, the rider settled both the horse and Tony into an ambling walk to allow them to cool down before returning to the stable once again. By the time they returned, the stables were all closed up for the night save one light left on for them over the main stable’s trough and bathing station.

While the rider dismounted, Tony took advantage of the momentarily loosened chains to wander along the trough in the direction of the shed. The man impatiently jerked Tony closer to him as he secured the animal while it took a deep draught of water. Clipping Tony to the trough, the man removed the saddle and hosed the horse off, making sure to slick the water off thoroughly before throwing a cooler over his back and leading him into the stable.

Tony watched the man disappear from view before turning all his attention to the shed. Gibbs could well imagine he was speaking to the Marines now by the subtle changes in posture, the slight movement of his head and hands, the occasional furtive glances at the stable. After a long delay, the man emerged while Tony’s back was turned. Leaving the stable door ajar, he stalked up behind Tony as Gibbs’ gut clenched.

“Oh, my,” Ducky uttered in alarm. “Anthony!”

The man grabbed the taut chain and yanked it backwards, forcefully throwing Tony to the ground where he frantically rolled to his knees and assumed a protective, submissive position. Standing over him, the rider lifted the chain and Tony with it then bent to face him as Tony’s hands scrabbled to join behind his back. An argument ensued between the two men, the rider frequently waving his arms around and towards the shed while Tony answered as heatedly. He dipped his head towards the rider repeatedly as the man continued to argue with him before finally relenting. Stripping off Tony’s tunic and leaving him attached where he was, the rider disappeared back into the stable for a brief moment before reappearing, making sure to latch the stable securely. 

Taking Tony with him, the rider circled to a more private corner of the stable barely in view of the satellite before bending him over a bale of hay. Rummaging in his pocket, he withdrew something, spending a great deal of time over Tony before dropping his trousers and entering him from behind. All they could see in MTAC was the man’s shoulders, his rear thrusting repeatedly. They held their breath as the rape continued. When the man reached completion, he relaxed, lying on top of Tony for a moment before he pulled away to gather his clothing together. Grabbing Tony’s chains, he led him stumbling back to the stanchions to bathe him, making sure to remove any evidence of what had happened while Tony stood passively.

The rider held the hose up to Tony’s lips, allowing him a drink before he dragged the hose behind him to slide it under some equipment, allowing the water to run under the shed door, providing the Marines water. The rider returned to Tony, smacking him once on the rear in reaction to an apparent comment before roughly drying him with a towel then oiling his body, wiping any excess off with a blade, and then delivering him back to the main house.

“Jethro, he just traded himself for their water…”

“I know, Duck.”

Silence fell in MTAC when Tony left their limited view.

“I want a full replay of that shed for the past 24 hours,” Gibbs ordered. 

“We don’t have 24 hours of surveillance for…”

“Everything you’ve got!” he snapped tersely.

Three technicians leapt to huddle over one monitor as they backed up the footage. They debated amongst themselves as they worked with the available images from two different satellites, discarding most of the footage from a third, more distant satellite which had provided a more oblique angle with greater interference and distortion than either of the other two. When they narrowed down what they had, they put both sets of footage up on the main screen with one tech working to clean up each tape as it ran.

The shed showed up in tandem on the screen as Vance strode into MTAC to look curiously at the footage.

“This is where you think they’re being held?”

“Yeah.”

“What makes you think that?”

“DiNozzo told us.”

The Director’s eyes narrowed at the cryptic answer but he let it go for the time being. “What are we looking at now?”

“Seeing if we can see anything else.”

They watched all the available footage, looking for any sign of the Marines but coming up with nothing. If the Marines were actually in there, they had been locked in and left without food or water in the small building since Tony had been discovered.

“Do any of you know what the weather conditions were like in that area over the past 24 hours?” Ducky enquired.

After a brief pause, save the click of keys, he was told, “Low humidity, 103 degree high, 72 degree low, current prevailing winds north northwest at 12 knots.”

“Director, even if they are not injured from the helicopter crash, they will not survive many days such as that without water.”

Gibbs asserted, “DiNozzo’ll take care of them until we get ‘em out.”

“Who’ll take care of Anthony, Jethro?” Even before it slipped from his lips, Ducky wished he could take it back. Although he knew the question could be nothing more than rhetorical, Ducky turned to look intently at Gibbs to see a man desperate for action – needing to do something to make everything right again. He knew Jethro blamed himself for Tony’s predicament despite all the evidence to the contrary. Reaching out, the medical examiner captured a tense shoulder, kneading it lightly as vulnerable blue eyes met his. “We’ll get him back,” he assured his friend. “He’d never disobey you.”

000

 

Early the next morning, the horseman came back for Tony, leading him to jog along the same path before the sun rose too high in the sky. Looking as though he’d had a long night, Tony took some time to get going; he walked from the villa groggy and obviously out of sorts in the feed from the high resolution satellite, which was finally in position. After a few miles at a comfortable trot, the horseman eventually broke into a canter for a brief time before easing back into a fast jogging walk. By the time they had arrived back at the stable, the horse’s chest was covered with flecks of foam and Tony’s white tunic clung to him in dusty clumps.

Clipping Tony to the trough, the horseman tended to his steed, taking the time to cool him down properly and settling him in a nearby paddock before turning to his two-legged charge. Tony kneeled slumped against the trough in the shade of the stable, waiting for him. When he came to stand over him, Tony didn’t move except to raise his head to ask a question. The horseman glanced over to the shed, his hesitancy evident, before replying to the captive agent. From his vantage point, Gibbs was troubled to see the hose had been moved away from the shed.

The discussion was over before it began when the horseman unclipped Tony, looked around at the stablehands already beginning their day and stealthily slipped into the stable with the missing agent in tow. Gibbs tried to not look at his watch as the minutes ticked by with no sight of either man.

Vance’s body swung into his line of sight for a moment before the director joined him in the row of seats. “You planning on going home at all, Agent Gibbs?”

“Needed here.” 

Still no sight of Tony.

“Well, I’m going to run home and remind my family what I look like for a couple of hours. Command has the coordinates of the location and are monitoring—“

“It’d be better if they were acting,” his agent interrupted forcefully without straying from the screen.

“Yeah. Well, I’ve just spent the past five hours at the Pentagon arguing that point with anyone who would listen.”

“What’d they say?”

Sighing deeply, Vance fumbled for a much needed toothpick. He answered derisively, “No go without visual. An agent in extended, abusive captivity talking to a building and using his body as an apparent bargaining chip to flood it doesn’t count high on their radar.”

Gibbs bolted from his chair to pace the room. “Then what the hell does?! You and I both know that’s where they are. Where’s SecNav on this?”

“He’s got two generals and an admiral saying at least 36 more hours for any overt action if we don’t see anything before then. The State Department is urging caution due to the volatility of the area.”

When Vance’s eyes abruptly flicked to the screen, Gibbs swallowed his retort and spun around to watch Tony and the horseman emerge from the stable. Stripping off Tony’s tunic, the horseman expertly clipped his wrists to two stanchions and cleaned him thoroughly then oiled him just like the night before. Once he was done, the horseman furtively replaced the hose as close as possible to the shed door then led Tony back to the villa. The lead agent didn’t miss the occasional misstep his agent took as he trailed behind nor the previously unseen marks across his lower back and buttocks. Shooting a look of pure ferocious impotence at his superior, Gibbs stabbed his finger at the welts.

“These are the same people who say he’s safe there! He’d damn well better have 36 hours!”

“Or what, Agent Gibbs?”

“Or everyone’s gonna wish he did.”

000

  



	7. Chapter 7

  


When Tony waded into the pool for his daily late afternoon swim, Gibbs took the opportunity to check on the rest of his team in the hopes his swim was regularly the same basic duration each day just as his jogs seemed to be. His two agents had been giving him regular updates but this was the first time he’d emerged from MTAC voluntarily; the MTAC technicians had even ensured he was properly caffeinated, if only for their own protection. Gibbs was unsurprised to see both Ziva and McGee studiously watching the door to MTAC while working at their desks. By the time he reached the bullpen, they had both risen to meet him at his desk.

“How is Tony?” they asked in near perfect unison.

“Swimming. Whaddaya got?”

Frowning slightly, McGee clicked the remote towards the plasma. “In the case of the Norfolk coordinates, we found a warehouse on the South Pier – S4619 – leased to a shadow company. Further digging found a pretty complex money trail which eventually leads to one of Zaccharia’s men, who is still unaccounted for. It’s under surveillance now and the Norfolk office will be executing the search warrant this morning as you requested.”

Ziva stepped in. “As for Baltimore, no warehouses seem to fit but there is a ship which comes in every few weeks with a registration number this could be a partial of. It is not due back for at least another week or two. We have alerted the Port Authority and they will notify us as soon as they hear it is on its way in.”

“Where’s the FBI on this?”

“I called Fornell, Boss. He’s gonna coordinate the investigation on his end. He said he’d call you later about Tony.”

“And I called Interpol,” Ziva added with a nod. “They are following up with the various sovereign nations involved.”

“Sounds good.” He answered his phone with a restrained, “Gibbs.”

“You’d better get up here, they found the hose and all hell’s broken loose!”

Leaving his agents with a terse, “Keep at it -- you know where to find me,” Gibbs bolted for the stairs, taking them two at a time. Bending to the iris scanner, he chafed at the delay as the device unhurriedly granted him entrance. 

Gibbs burst into MTAC just in time to see Tony clamber out of the pool in a rush to kneel at Bouvier’s feet. Two men glared at him from where they stood next to Bouvier. Two other men hustled the horseman to the poolside, throwing him at Bouvier’s feet next to the captive agent.

The horseman scooted a short distance away from Tony as he tried to separate himself from him. Ignoring Tony for the time being, Bouvier first directed his attention to his employee. The man’s hands shook in supplication as he explained himself while Tony knelt ramrod straight and steadily stared at Bouvier’s feet. When Bouvier finally turned to him, Tony animatedly answered the questions posed. Gibbs watched with bated breath as Bouvier’s hands flexed on his armrests, tightening noticeably at DiNozzo’s replies. The man leaned closer to Tony, his face red with anger only to meet defiance in his captive. 

“No, Tony. Not now… Not now, DiNozzo…” Gibbs begged under his breath. His heart in his throat, his eyes strayed to the chronometer, calculating how close they were to success and apparently even more so, from this turn of events, to failure.

Before he knew it, Gibbs saw Bouvier surge from his seat in a flash of fury, his crop clenched in his hand. Tony ducked away, still talking as the blows rained down upon him. The horseman crawled out of the way, under a chaise, as men leapt in to help immobilize Tony for Bouvier. Rolling on his back as his arms covered his head, Tony kicked wildly in self-defense, drawing even more men down on top of him. With a lucky kick, a man splashed into the pool and then another before someone dragged Tony from the edge by his collar while he continued to resist. When he was finally subdued, Tony’s legs stilled under the men’s hands when his ankles were joined by a short chain, his wrists attached to each other.

While his men sorted themselves out, leaving Tony gasping on the ground, Bouvier stepped away for a moment, the tension still obvious in every line of his body. He conferred briefly with his visiting associate and another man before turning back with an air of finality to the two men waiting on the ground. As Bouvier approached, Tony rolled back up onto his knees to face him as he brought his breathing under control. Clipping a leash to Tony’s collar, Bouvier determinedly wrenched him to his feet and then jerked him to a shuffling heel as he led a small procession of people the short distance to the bathing station across from the shed Tony had paid so much attention to the night before. 

After Bouvier settled into a provided seat with Tony contritely kneeling beside him on a tightly held leash, the five missing Marines shuffled out of the shed at the point of several men’s rifles to kneel in a line before them. As Gibbs watched, the horseman was thrust from the middle of the throng, bowing humbly again at his employer’s feet. At Bouvier’s direction, he rose hurriedly, removed Tony’s bindings, grabbed him roughly by the collar and led him towards a pair of wash stanchions set in the cement pad. Tony followed obediently, raising his arms compliantly as they each were secured high on either side. His ankles were secured next, leaving him spread-eagled and barely toe-touching.

Gibbs could hardly breathe as he watched the scene unfold. He only just noticed the harried arrival of Vance with Ducky in his peripheral vision. As they came to stand at Gibbs’ side, Bouvier rose and circled Tony while he directed his attention to the Marines, apparently speaking to them while pacing up and down their line before returning to his seat.

“There’s your bloody proof, Director,” Ducky muttered under his breath in disgust.

The rider stepped up to Tony to spit in his face before turning to a small bundle which had been thrown at his feet. From it, he unfurled a long whip, hefting the handle and swirling it several times for effect before striking out to lay a ribbon of blood diagonally down Tony’s back. Tony arched with the blow, his head thrown back in agony. Another strike fell and then another. His hands twitched in their bonds as the strikes rained down. Time stopped as Gibbs lost count of how many blows Tony had withstood while the stripes on his back multiplied until his back was reduced to little more than shredded flesh. Tony’s taut body bowed spastically as the man moved around him to find unaffected skin for the whip’s unyielding bite. Tony seemed to struggle to face the Marines as much as possible even as his head flopped senselessly to one side.

A second man stepped forward, stalking up to Tony while wielding a large sword. Sidestepping the horseman, he slid the ornate blade between Tony’s legs, gliding it menacingly up one thigh to pause meaningfully before sliding it down the other as he leaned into Tony’s face. Aside from his heaving chest, Tony didn’t move, despite the new threat. When the man pushed away from him, Tony’s head flopped backwards to stare towards the sky, unknowingly looking directly towards the satellite, his green eyes hooded and uneven, the tendons in his neck punctuating his suffering. 

_“Anthony…”_ Ducky murmured through his cupped palm. He rested a hand on Gibbs’ shoulder for support as the swordsman prowled around the semiconscious man.

All of a sudden, the swordsman swung his blade in a diagonal trajectory directly at Tony’s neck, only to check himself at the last possible moment, choosing instead to rest the blade at Tony’s throat as the men in MTAC reeled in horror. A few of the Marines were swaying in place, scrambling to regain their feet only to be knocked down by a rifle stock thrust between their shoulder blades. The sword didn’t waver where it rested on Tony’s throat just above his collar even as a thin line of blood emerged from the other side of the golden choker to trickle down his chest unchecked. 

When the swordsman spoke over his shoulder to the horseman behind him, the man edged around in front of Tony where he hung, unresisting, before him, to stand just out of the way of the burly guard. With a sudden movement, the swordsman stepped backwards, twisting and heaving his sword in a wide arc as he efficiently beheaded the rider behind him in one blow. The ultimate punishment for the horseman’s duplicity. The executioner allowed the man’s severed head to bounce and roll unchecked in a macabre display towards the Marines as his body flopped lifelessly to lean against one of Tony’s bound legs. The Marines’ panic was short-lived as the guards used their rifle butts once again to regain control. 

In MTAC, one of the technicians dodged to a nearby trash barrel to vomit in reaction to what he had seen before shamefacedly returning to his post in the shocked silence.

Leaving Tony hanging in position, the Marines were hustled back into their prison while Bouvier and his entourage returned to the villa. As soon as Bouvier was out of eyeshot, a few horsemen rode over to loop a rope around the rider’s body and drag it far into the surrounding desert where the elements and scavengers could have him. A short while later, an attendant scurried out to the stanchions. He hosed Tony down, taking his time to scrub his wounds vigorously, which awoke the unconscious agent, making him writhe in pain at the excruciating torture.

Once he was satisfied he was sufficiently clean, the man cut Tony’s left wrist free, leaving him to sag folded almost diagonally as all his weight was suddenly suspended from one wrist. When he cut the right wrist loose, Tony helplessly flopped down in an aimless pile of long limbs in a bloody imitation of a life-sized marionette until his ankles were freed as well. Unable to do much else, he instinctively curled into a miserable heap on the cement wash pad. The attendant prodded him to rise repeatedly before giving up and going in search of help. With the assistance of one of the sentries, the attendant half-carried and half-dragged Tony into the main building.

“Director Vance, I have a communication for you from Brigadier General Shelby.”

“Bring it up,” Vance ordered as he slipped a headset on. “General Shelby. I assume you saw the satellite footage from a moment ago.”

“Director Vance,” Shelby greeted. “Yes. I’ve been in direct contact with Rear Admiral Hibuna throughout this entire incident and we’re formulating a plan as we speak. The recommendation is to strike in approximately 3300 and counting mark seventeen minutes ago.”

Gibbs jaw dropped in enraged astonishment. _“3300?!_ What the hell happened to the last countdown?! You need to go _NOW!_ ”

“The last countdown was revised. It was merely an estimate,” the general replied coolly.

“That’s my man in there, General,” Vance gravely reminded the officer. “Is there a reason we’re waiting a day and a half? You saw the extent of his injuries.”

“It’s regrettable, but we won’t have the proper resources in place until late tomorrow. Your man will just have to hang on.”

“Hang on?!” Ducky roared at the screen, his hands balled at his sides. “Hang on?! Are you mad?! Of all the incompetent, arrogant—“

“Wait. Duck…” Gibbs eyes boiled with anger, but his voice held a cool steel. “Replay it. I gotta see it again.”

“Jethro…”

“Bear with me, Duck. Davis, have them replay it from when they tied him up.”

“Director Vance?”

Vance looked questioningly at Gibbs. The man was standing at attention, his eyes locked on the screen as he waited for the replay. One look at the expression on his agent’s face was enough for Vance; it wasn’t the stricken look he was expecting, instead it was more one of proud certainty. An expression Vance only saw on Gibbs when DiNozzo pulled off the seemingly impossible. Tel Aviv stuck tenaciously to the forefront of his mind.

“Do it. General, stand by.”

“What th—“ The general’s affronted reply was cut off as his face turned red in a smaller, muted window at the top corner of the screen.

“Oh, sorry, Director. We must have jumped the gun a bit on that one,” the MTAC supervisor apologized disingenuously.

Vance rolled his eyes at the man. “Let’s take a look at that footage.”

Tony was led to the stanchions, his eyes more on the Marines than where he was going. As he was tightly secured to the posts, his hands flailed and twitched at their confinement while he was partially suspended by his wrists.

“STOP!” Gibbs bellowed urgently. “Zoom in on his hands. Make sure you keep the right one in the picture.”

The scene tightened while Gibbs squinted at the screen. Blood could be seen flowing sluggishly from Tony’s wrists as he struggled in agony to throw his body away from the whip with more blood spraying into view from some of the more punishing blows on his back. When it ended, his hands quivered with an occasional spastic flare of a finger before hanging lifelessly.

“Did you see it?”

“See what, Jethro?”

“Davis, the same thing. Replay it again. Right hand only.”

Tony’s slightly pixilated wrist filled the screen as it was tied tightly with coarse rope just below the golden wrist cuff. His hand tested for play in the rope as his wrist became progressively more abraded and blood began to flow down his arm. At the first strike, his fist flew open, shuddering and trembling as his fingers jerked open and closed constantly in reaction to the pain.

“Jethro… How many times must we watch this? What is it you see?”

“S – O – S, S – O – S, S – O – S,” Gibbs spelled out as Tony’s fingers flashed Morse Code to the Marines.

“Wait a minute,” Vance took the toothpick out of his mouth as he faced his senior agent in bewilderment. “Are you telling me he’s communicating with them?”

“Watch. Ignore everything else but his hand. Davis, once more.” 

Gibbs’ heart raced. What was Tony doing? 

As the loop began anew, he explained, “He repeats SOS until here. He must have gotten someone’s attention. Then he says BLINK a couple of times. After that he signals: ESCAPE BE READY MASTER WILL LEAVE ME LOOSE TONIGHT BE READY ESCAPE BLINK.”

His eyes widening, Vance barked, “Get Shelby back!”

“Good Lord,” Ducky breathed in amazement. “It’s no wonder he readily stepped up to the posts. I wonder if he provoked him to have this punishment.”

“Nothing would surprise me, Duck. It wouldn’t be the first time…”

“That notwithstanding, Jethro, Anthony has shown all the signs of going into hypovolemic shock. While he may attempt to escape, even with his stubborn streak, his body may not be able to sustain him.”

“He’ll do it,” Gibbs asserted with conviction. “If he says he’ll do it, he will.”

As the general’s face popped into view, the Director proclaimed, “General, the time frame’s moved up! You need to contact the _Essex_ and let them know the plans have changed.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Director?”

Vance drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders. “My man is getting your men out tonight.” His eyes gleamed in anticipation as the general started to sputter.

000

 

Emerging from the dark of MTAC into the bright two story bullpen, Ducky’s eyes cleared in time to see Tim McGee signal his reappearance to Jimmy and Ziva while Abby rose from his lap. They all tracked his descent of the stairs silently, anxiously awaiting news of what it was that Gibbs had so suddenly been called to see. Ducky tipped his head at them before turning away for the last few steps, only to find himself face to face with the four of them as they rushed to the foot of the stairs.

“Perhaps, we should go down to Abigail’s lab?” he suggested mildly. He held his arms wide to shepherd all of them towards the rear elevator.

“Is Tony all right, Ducky?” Abby asked fearfully.

With a heavy sigh, Ducky admitted, “To be honest, no. He was severely….flogged a moment ago but is still alive.” He made a shushing motion as he led the way out of the elevator and into Abby’s lab. “Don’t count Anthony out yet, we believe he may have instigated the beating to be allowed to remain unfettered this evening while he recovers; he promised the Marines an escape attempt tonight!”

“Tonight? As in ‘a few hours from now’ tonight?” McGee asked incredulously.

“Yes, exactly that, Timothy.”

“Will he be receiving support from the Navy?” Ziva asked pragmatically as she reviewed what she knew of the strategic layout of the estate in her mind.

“The Director just got off the wire with the brigadier general charged with this mission. Jethro is discussing support tactics as we speak.”

Jimmy worriedly asked, “Doctor Mallard, what can we do?”

“I’ll need to close out any pending cases; I’ll need you to help me with that, Mister Palmer. Once Anthony is free, he’ll eventually be medevaced to Bethesda for treatment and I’ll be needed there. As for the two of you, Timothy and Ziva, I realize Jethro got much of the paperwork cleared from his desk, but you can double check to ensure he is also free from any concerns. I would well imagine he’ll be taking some time off until Anthony is settled.”

“Ducky?” Abby frowned uncertainly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Ducky offered his arms to her, smiling paternally when she eagerly accepted the offer. He whispered into one pony tail, “Call the Sisters. Anthony will require all the help he can get.”

000

 

_The estate lay quiet under the glimmer of moonlight save a few scattered sentries and a tall, thin shape, which emerged from a large archway on the main house then darted through the shadows, its identity hidden by the black cloak which swirled with its every move. Under one arm, Agent Tommy carried a bulky bundle as he stole from nook to cranny, shadow to shadow, across the inner courtyard, around the pool and its cabana and headed towards the far stables. Fighting to ignore the pain chipping away at his resolve and pausing frequently to catch his breath, Tommy moved stiffly in an awkwardly hunched position, yet retained enough natural grace to move stealthily enough to escape detection. Reaching the stables, he fumbled with the latches for a moment before slipping inside. A sentry wandered by the door before heading towards the cabana. A few minutes later, the captive agent reappeared as he pressed his chest and palms to the wall for support as he slowly inched his way around the back of the stable towards a solitary shed._

_A lone guard stood sentinel at this latest time of night when day was early to rise. A skittering sound drew the guard upright from where he lounged against the wall, smoking. Snuffing his cigarette, he looked around alertly before another sound caught his attention. Raising his weapon, the guard cautiously crept towards the stable, his eyes darting around for anything out of the ordinary. Once the guard was out of view, Tommy dropped his handful of pebbles and, casting away any pretense of concealment, rushed to the shed, threw the bundle down onto the ground and hastily set to work on the door. Behind him, unmindful of the escape attempt, the guard shielded his eyes to peer in the stable windows._

_A shrill neigh echoed in the large building, answered by another and a series of muffled thuds. As the sentry tried to make out what the jumble of moving shapes in the murky dark were, a chicken flapped into the window, making the guard jump back several feet in surprise as the bird awkwardly bounced off the glass to tumble out of view. Unable to see what the cause of the commotion was, the guard opened the door to the stable only to nearly get trampled in a stampede as a small herd of horses and a scattering of goats, sheep and chickens flooded out to careen around the inner courtyard._

_With Tommy’s quiet urging, the five Marines stumbled out the open shed door to join him, grabbing a cloak from the bundle and shrugging them on as they helped each other struggle towards freedom. Avoiding the open paddocks, Tommy led them along a wall, through an elaborate garden and down towards a small orchard as fast as he was able. Behind them, lights snapped on in every direction as the alarm was sounded, first to gather up thousands of years worth of horse breeding before any were lost, a second time when the shed was found empty and then again when it was noticed that Tommy was missing. Men scrambled from every part of the complex to answer the alarm with flashlights, weapons and torches in hand. Bedlam reigned while Tommy continued to encourage the Marines towards a point in the orchard where the wall was close to a tall tree._

_Licks of fire could be seen flailing at the side of the stable near the loft as smoldering hay finally burst into flame. Pushing through panicked animals and choking smoke, the men who had been searching the perimeter raced back to the courtyard, giving Tommy’s group some breathing room. A sudden explosion flared near the main house, followed by another as the_ Sussex _laid cover fire from its position twenty miles away, sending everyone in its sights scrambling for safety. Tommy didn’t have to think twice before taking advantage of the added distraction and urging the Marines onward._

_In the orchard, unevenly lit by the fire and explosions, the Marines worked together to gamely clamber up the tree and jump one at a time over the high fence. When Tommy dropped from the tree, he landed in an ungainly heap and laid still, his body refusing to move, unable to go any further. The Marines grabbed him by the arms, dragging him to his feet and away from the estate. As they worked their way east towards the coast, a group of villagers rushing towards the estate homed in on the group of bedraggled escapees to intercept them, drawing the Marines up short in alarm as they knew, if they were recognized, they would be surrendered back to their captors._

_Lurching to a stop, Tommy shrugged off the Marines helping him and directed them towards an abandoned track, which led to a winding path towards the coast, before turning to face the villagers. As an explosion rocked the ground nearby, Tommy buried his face deep in his hood while he weakly shouted instructions in their local dialect, sending them rushing back towards their homes and away from the danger. When he turned to hobble after the Marines, another missile exploded nearby, the force throwing Tommy windmilling through the air to crash into a rock wall, where part of a hill had been carved away over the eons, before lying lifelessly in the desert scrub. His arms outflung, he lay motionless on his back amidst the explosions, his unseeing eyes reflecting the bright flames from the nearby inferno as blood trickled from his nose and mouth._

_While the estate burned in the distance, the Marines scrambled back to grab Tommy. Hefting his inert body into their arms, they carried him away from the place of his torment for over five months. By the first rays of a new dawn, a helicopter landed on the deck of the_ Sussex _. In it were six men who were missing no more…_

000

  



	8. Chapter 8

  


“Still no status report, Agent Gibbs.”

Gibbs swore under his breath. “What the hell are they waiting for?!” he stormed. “Will they at least confirm that he’s alive?!”

“They just keep saying they don’t have anything for us yet.”

“Keep trying, damn it!” 

The MTAC techs cringed yet again as the lead agent stalked the small room restlessly. It had been three hours since they watched the escape and they still had no answers on Tony’s condition. Satellite sweeps had confirmed the estate had been reduced to a pile of smoldering rubble, which seemed to placate the enraged agent somewhat but the continuing lack of information on his obviously injured agent had him nearly apoplectic even with Doctor Mallard’s stabilizing presence next to him.

“Jethro, they may still be evaluating him. No news should be good news.”

“Damn it, Duck, don’t patronize me!”

“I’m not. I’m simply pointing out the most likely reason to not have information yet.”

“He was thrown into a rock face by an explosion after being beaten within an inch of his life and lord knows what else and now they choose to not answer even the simplest question? Who’s the Agent Afloat onboard?”

Director Vance looked up from where he was peering over a technician’s shoulder at a monitor. “Jacobs. We’re trying to establish contact with him now.” Considering his frantic agent for a moment, Vance turned to one of the technicians to ask, “Myers, why don’t you go for a coffee run?” He pressed his lips tight at Gibbs’ startled glance.

The lead agent grunted his appreciation as he continued to pace the room. 

Giving up on any pretense of settling his old friend until he got the news they both desperately needed to hear, Ducky perched on the edge of a seat in the front row to watch and wait. As much as he had been increasingly concerned for Gibbs for a while now, the coroner was especially worried now how he would handle this new stress. Additionally, Ducky felt his own fears growing for Tony. 

The young agent had wormed his way into Ducky’s heart early in his NCIS career with his irrepressible nature, deep sense of compassion and unbelievable penchant for getting into the most amazingly sticky wickets, oftentimes coming out more than a little the worse for wear. Ducky took it as a personal compliment that the physician phobic agent trusted him so absolutely. Tony was also the only person at NCIS who truly seemed to enjoy listening to the older man’s stories and would often find time to visit down in Autopsy when he had a chance. 

What meant even more to the medical examiner, however, were Tony’s regular visits to the house to help with his mother. Despite the agent’s healthy respect for the dogs and even healthier respect for his mother, Tony’s visits were often spent good-naturedly humoring his mother’s whims, which always lifted some of the weight from Ducky’s shoulders. Even now, with his mother safely in a nursing home with her mind devastated by Alzheimer’s, Tony would often make the time to drive the older man for visits and play along with his mother’s stories about him, whether they be that he was her Italian gigolo, her beloved grandson newly home from The War, or anything else her addled mind conjured up.

“Special Agent Jacobs is coming up now, Director.”

“Director! Agent Gibbs, sorry for the wait. I guess we have someone you’ve been looking for!” Jacobs’ grin was three feet wide on the large screen.

“Sit rep!” Vance ordered around a toothpick he had clenched tightly in his teeth.

Jacobs sobered as he recounted, “Well, the five Marines are all in pretty good shape; they got knocked around a bit in the crash and stuff. Some dehydration. Sprains. A couple possible broken bones. An eye injury. GI complaints. A few of the men are gonna need some stitches and Doc says two may need to be medevaced for treatment. As for Special Agent DiNozzo, the doc is still working on him – he’s been out cold since they brought him in. I got a quick peek before I came up here and he’s a bloody mess but they say if they can stabilize him from the shock he should make it.”

“Agent Jacobs, when you see the doctor, would you please tell him I would appreciate a word?” Ducky politely asked as he approached the screen. “I’m Donald Mallard, the M.E. here and Anthony’s personal physician. I know Doctor Willis has the medical information I sent, but Anthony can be a bit tricky to treat due to some rather nasty drug reactions and a general reticence towards doctors.”

“I’ll let Doc know,” Agent Jacobs readily agreed. “Gibbs, I gotta tell ya, the men won’t shut up about DiNozzo. He impressed them a lot -- told them his boss was a Gunny as if that explained everything.”

Feeling his heart swell with pride, Gibbs grunted in reply before turning to accept a note one of the techs passed to him. Glancing at it quickly, he nodded towards the screen. “Let me know if there are any changes or further news. When you speak with DiNozzo, tell him my order stands. Duck, I’ll be down in Abby’s lab.”

000

 

Tim McGee was so preoccupied stroking Abby’s hair as she wept softly into his sodden shoulder that he missed her suddenly tensing before the back of his head exploded in pain. “OW!!! Hey, what was that for?!!” He spun at the assault to face twin blue lasers directed at him. “Uh… Boss?”

“That was for hacking into the satellite feed, getting caught at it and making Abby cry. You’re outdoing yourself today, Elflord.”

“But, Boss, I… uh…”

Gibbs’ hand then clipped his probationary agent in the back of the skull, sending curls bouncing in every direction. Ziva’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as her hand flew to her head.

“And that, Agent David, was for encouraging him to do it.” The lead agent then turned his attention towards a very sheepish forensic scientist. “We’ll talk later.”

“Abby, have you seen Doctor Mallard? Metro just dropped off… Oh, hi, Agent Gibbs! Uh…” Palmer took an instinctive step back as his eyes darted around the room, taking in the three shamefaced subordinates standing near a blank monitor, two of which with a hand to the back of their heads, and their stormier than usual supervisor.

“He’s still in MTAC, Palmer. Go back to Autopsy, he’ll be down when he’s free.”

The pathologist’s assistant beat a hasty retreat while Gibbs turned to his people. “What did you see?”

Abby slinked from McGee into Gibbs’ embrace. “Everything until the helicopter,” she sniffled huskily against his chest as she clung to him. Hiccupping softly a couple of times, she turned her watery gaze up at him. “Gibbs, is he alive?”

“Yeah, he’s alive; he wouldn’t dare not be,” he answered as his expression softened. “You’re lucky Matt likes you, Tim.” He handed the note to his junior field agent. “He could have ratted you out to Vance. Be more careful next time – they’re on to you,” he cautioned with a slight smirk.

“Yes, Boss.”

Crossing her arms to help keep her emotions contained, Ziva asked, “Gibbs, do you know anything further? He was unconscious when they airlifted him out, yes?”

Their superior sighed resignedly before admitting, “We don’t know much yet. They’re still treating him. He’s in shock but they think he’ll be okay.” He looked around the small circle of his team as he tried to control the knot of anticipation Tony’s escape triggered in his gut. As soon as it started to vibrate, Gibbs snatched his cell from his pocket and flipped it open. He quickly glanced at the screen, seeing it was Building Security, before barking, “Yeah?” He paused to listen to the other end of the line as the three teammates in front of him shifted anxiously. “Okay. Send him on in; I’ll meet him in the bullpen. Thanks, George.” Already heading for the door, he explained over his shoulder, “Brad Pitt’s here. Ducky requested he conference in with the doc from the _Essex._ ”

Ziva’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Brad Pitt? The actor?”

“No, silly!” Abby exclaimed excitedly. “Brad Pitt, Tony’s hot doctor. I can’t believe you never heard his name before; he sees him, like, every three months or so for rechecks and stuff.”

The Israeli frowned. “I had heard of Dr. Pitt but Tony has only mentioned a Brad. I didn’t realize they were one and the same.”

In an effort to ward off the inevitable Jen and Angelina comments Brad’s name always seemed to elicit, Gibbs paused, impatiently bouncing on the balls of his feet and bracing his hands on either side of the door frame to lean in as he ordered, “Enough! McGee, Ziva, with me.” 

Gibbs didn’t hesitate again as he turned to the elevator. By the time the doors slid open, both agents were at his side. 

As they rode up to their floor, he instructed, “I need you to check for any imminent or overdue paperwork while we’re busy in MTAC. We need to clear our desks as much as possible. I don’t want either of you sticking around late, so make sure you go home at a reasonable hour. Tim, I’m counting on you to make sure Abby doesn’t hang around too late, either.” Before they could lodge a protest, he held a hand up in a shushing motion as the doors slid open at their floor. “Get to work and no more hacking. I’ll fill you in as soon as I get a chance.”

Without another word, Gibbs strode out of the elevator to encounter a familiar face waiting for him. “Brad, you made it here fast.”

The doctor stepped forward to grasp the agent’s hand warmly then followed him up the steps to MTAC. “Are you kidding? When Donald called to tell me you found Tony it was all I could do to pull a few strings and get my butt down here. I can’t believe you found him!”

“It’s more like he found himself,” Gibbs admitted with a twinge of guilt still tugging at him for having lost his agent in the first place. “Has Ducky discussed the situation yet?”

“No. Not yet. He was pretty cryptic on the phone.” The easygoing doctor sobered. “How bad is it? I figured it was more than a hangnail since he called me in.”

“Up to a half hour ago, we didn’t have anything beyond shocky but alive. I’ll let Ducky explain it to you.” Gibbs rounded the banister to find Jimmy Palmer patiently waiting at the door to MTAC.

“Hi, Agent Gibbs,” the coroner’s assistant greeted nervously. “Doctor Mallard requested I come up here until the fill-in pathologist arrives.” His eyes widened when he saw who was accompanying the senior agent. “Hey, Doctor Pitt.” He shook the doctor’s hand and then followed the two men into the darkened chamber.

Gibbs was glad to see Vance was no longer in the inner nerve center, leaving the medical examiner to his own thoughts while he waited.

His arms crossed and his chin resting pensively on a finger, Ducky stood with his full attention on the screen in front of him. As the light from the briefly opened doorway flashed through the room, he looked over his shoulder to eagerly greet his colleagues. “Bradley, as usual you have perfect timing.” He clapped the younger doctor on the shoulder with a genuine smile. “And, Mr. Palmer, I believe we can put some of your higher education to good use. I have a feeling you will be assisting me with Anthony, so you might as well be read in from the beginning, if that’s all right with you?”

Gibbs couldn’t help but feel that Jimmy looked for all the world like a deer caught in headlights, yet he couldn’t miss the pleased expression which tried to break free as the coroner’s assistant straightened to his full height. Chafing at the lack of information, the lead agent interrupted, “Any word yet, Duck?”

“They just assured me the doctor would be available within the next ten minutes,” Ducky assured him. “I wonder, though, if we might be able to clear the room of any nonessential personnel? This medical information is likely to be highly personal in nature.”

Gibbs eyed the technicians lining one wall thoughtfully. A few glanced over their shoulders or watched him in the reflection of their monitors as he paced along behind them. Gibbs knew most of these men well and trusted them deeply; many of them had been privy to everything that had happened to Tony thus far, yet none of them had seen everything his senior field agent had been through, including him, and, to have all his injuries enumerated, did not require an audience, in his opinion. He tipped his head and raised an eyebrow at the no nonsense Control Officer perched in the corner with a headset, who cleared his throat and then dismissed his crew with a meaningful look and a nod towards the door. Acknowledging the grimace of gratitude from the lead agent, the MTAC supervisor sat down at a nearby station to quietly monitor the various machines.

“Ah. Excellent. Thank you, Davis,” Ducky gave the man’s shoulder a heartfelt pat. He turned to Gibbs. “Jethro, why don’t you take a break while we discuss Anthony’s condition with the doctor? If there’s anything I need to discuss with you, I’ll have Davis ring you.”

“I’ll be at my desk,” Gibbs grumped as he looked longingly towards the screen, loathe to leave MTAC but knowing he wasn’t needed at this time and that he had to make the best use of what limited time he had. He allowed Ducky to herd him to the door then headed to his desk to finish up the necessary paperwork before his personal leave.

“The doc’s coming up now,” Davis reported as Ducky turned from the door.

Unconsciously smoothing his shirt, Ducky mentally collected himself as he signaled for Brad and Jimmy to join him in front of the main screen. The feed flickered then coalesced into a man’s face. Ducky noticed the man looked exhausted and was wearing scrubs which were soaked in sweat. When the feed apparently opened on his end, he brightened to smile tiredly into the monitor.

“Doctor Mallard?”

“Doctor Willis, it’s Ducky, please. I am so sorry to bother you.”

“No, Ducky, it’s no bother. Your information was actually quite helpful.”

“How is he?”

“Stabilizing. We have him on a low perfusion sodium chloride drip now and the Mannitol seems to be helping with the head injury…”

000

 

Gibbs looked at the pile of paperwork heaped on his desk. There was no sign of either of his other agents – he hoped they had followed his orders and gone home. He was glad to see they had both completed much of the necessary paperwork earlier; most of the folders simply needed a quick review and his signature. As he automatically worked his way through the files, his mind kept drifting to MTAC and a ship thousands of miles away. Reaching for the last of the pile, Gibbs saw a note stuck to the desk under it: _“Abby’s Lab 20:00”_ was written in McGee’s familiar left-handed slant. With a quick glance at the clock, he scanned the requisition thoroughly then signed it with a flourish before grabbing his coat and heading for the elevator.

Striding out onto the lab floor, he could hear one of Abby’s favorite blues albums playing in the lab. As soon as he ducked through the door, he was enveloped in an enthusiastic hug.

“Gibbs!” Abby’s breath smelled of crab rangoons and soy sauce.

“I thought I told you to go home.” He cast a pointed look at his two subordinates.

“Rule eighteen,” Abby observed perkily.

He sighed to himself – _it’s better to seek forgiveness than ask permission._

Ziva unapologetically stabbed her chopsticks into her box. Setting it down, she reached into a bag and drew out a small tub. As she handed it to him with a note of challenge to her eyes, she stated, “Your soup is getting cold.”

With a withering scowl which lacked true heat, he accepted the tub and a spoon then foraged through the various bags to see what else he could pick at when he realized with a rumble that he hadn’t eaten since a quickly scarfed Danish first thing that morning.

“What’s happening, Boss?”

He shrugged. “Damned if I know. Got thrown out of MTAC while the docs consulted. They’ve been in there for quite a while. The doc on the _Essex_ said he was stabilizing.”

“Actually, Jethro,” Ducky began as he contemplatively paced into the lab, looking stooped and drawn. “We still do not know much about Tony’s condition. They have started transfusing him and have given several boli to help mitigate the damage to his organs from the shock. He has stabilized sufficiently to consider transport, but his condition is still tenuous. Doctor Willis has tried to awaken him a couple of times now and he has been largely unresponsive to external stimuli save extreme combativeness. While he is having some difficulty breathing, Bradley has advised against intubation and has recommended some treatment options.”

Jimmy Palmer trailed in behind his mentor, his lips set in a firm line. At the offer of food, he blanched and mutely shook his head.

“Is Brad still here?” McGee asked expectantly as he peered beyond Jimmy.

“No. He rushed back to Bethesda. He has much he wishes to prepare on his end.”

“What are the extent of his injuries, Duck?”

Shaking his head sadly, Ducky leaned against one of Abby’s worktables, his hands tightly grasping it on either side while he crossed his legs to bow his head in thought. “While Doctor Willis was refreshingly forthcoming, until we get him to Bethesda it would only be speculation. I reviewed the salient tapes with Bradley and Mister Palmer.” He paused sympathetically as Jimmy coughed thickly then turned his attention to a piece of lint. “For the time being, Anthony’s treatment is consisting more of a course of stabilization for transport to a better equipped facility.”

“Would he be better off going someplace closer? Ramstein?”

“Perhaps,” Ducky conceded. “However, Director Vance has called in some favors to ensure we have a committed flight available which would bring him directly to Bethesda without delay so, as long as he responds to the treatment in the next few hours, they’ll be airlifting him and two of the Marines out as early as 0100 our time.”

“So, we could see him tomorrow?” Abby asked eagerly.

“Um,” Jimmy jumped in. “Actually, probably not. He definitely requires testing and at least some surgery. It will probably be at least a day or two before he’s allowed visitors.”

“Most definitely,” Ducky agreed. “And, with that, I must be getting home,” he observed tiredly. “Tomorrow is looking to be a very busy day.” 

Passing Jimmy, Ducky supportively patted the younger man on the arm, knowing the depths of his friendship with Tony and the incredible impact seeing the videos had caused him. The coroner knew, the moment he left the lab, Timothy, Abigail and Ziva would descend on his protégé and hoped he was up to the task. He had great faith in the young man but appreciated how difficult this could be – up to this time, Ducky had managed to shelter him somewhat from the darker cost some of the agents had to pay for their job. He wearily made a mental note to make the time to speak with Jimmy in the morning once they both had had a chance to process everything.

Ducky strode out of the lab with Gibbs on his heels. They waited for the elevator in silence, neither acknowledging the other. Once the elevator started moving, Ducky reached over to hit the stop button before Gibbs could. The two friends faced each other for a long moment before Gibbs spoke.

“What else is there?”

“Well, Jethro. Apparently, the ‘punishment’ we saw did not stop when they brought him inside,” Ducky supplied as a prologue.

“Duck…” Gibbs sighed bleakly. “Just tell me.”

“His body shows signs of continued, systematic abuse.”

“We expected as much.”

“Yes, however, he has a number of fresh tears, Jethro…” Ducky watched Gibbs’ jaw tighten. “They’ll require surgical repair as will a number of the welts and shrapnel wounds from the explosion, mainly on his back and legs, which will require very complicated wound care to salvage the skin and underlying muscle tissue. His lungs and kidneys are also subjects of concern.” He paused as Gibbs’ eyes flashed at the mention of Tony’s delicate lungs before continuing, “From Doctor Willis’ descriptions, I cannot begin to fathom how he was able to pull it off.”

“Because he’s DiNozzo,” Gibbs said simply. “He’s always somehow managed to watch his own six.” His voice dripped with self-recrimination as he finished the thought in his head – _if only because no one else has._

“Jethro, you cannot blame yourself for this! You will be no good to Anthony if you bring all this baggage into the situation.”

“We were supposed to be watching his six, Duck. We lost him.”

“We have revisited this argument for six months now,” Ducky pointed out tiredly. “It must stop here. He has found his way back and it will be our job to deal with the fallout without bringing anything more into the situation. For now, all our energies must be directed at Anthony’s recovery.”

“It will be, Duck. He’ll get everything we got. We owe him that much.”

“To that end, you must go home now and get some rest. If I need to, I shall declare you unfit for duty.”

“Duck—“

The coroner crossly shook his index finger at Gibbs and began to pace around in the small space. “No, Jethro! Exactly how many hours have you been up now?! I don’t care what you say about your Marine training; those cat naps in MTAC don’t count. How about your last meal -- a sit down, healthy meal with recognizable food groups? And I know without fear of contradiction that you have run yourself almost quite literally into the ground looking for Anthony over the past six months. I have watched and said very little, but that ends now! There is absolutely nothing we can do until he arrives at Bethesda and the flight itself is expected to take at least fourteen hours, not to mention the nearly four additional hours before he will even be able to be medevaced. He has reached safety. They are treating him appropriately. We have time. You need your rest. Once he arrives, he’s going to need your support for whatever comes next.”

Without a word, Gibbs reached over and snapped the switch on then settled to stand next to his friend as the elevator rose.

“You’ll go home?”

“Good night, Duck.”

000

  



	9. Chapter 9

  


Gibbs looked at the clock on the nightstand and sighed as he fluffed the sheet and tucked a neat military corner tightly then turned to gather the comforter and expertly flip it over the bed to come to rest evenly draped. He stood back to check the guest bedroom with a critical eye, then turned to the pile of pillows on the rocking chair in the corner. Slipping each into a freshly laundered pillowcase, he wandered the room, pausing to peer out the window at the dramatically colored sunrise as he piled the pillows high at the head of the bed. Rummaging in the closet, Gibbs lifted down the fan Tony liked to use whenever he slept over since his bout with the Plague – whether it was psychological, the soft drone or the slight movement of air he liked, Gibbs never asked but Tony used it regardless of the season and it seemed to help him sleep.

Respecting Ducky’s advice, Gibbs had gone directly home to get some, admittedly, much needed sleep. Arriving there, he found himself unable to unwind as his mind raced from one thing needing to be done to another. The list now sitting on the nightstand was growing by the hour with things he needed to do or items which had to be retrieved from the storage unit before Tony came home.

When Tony’s lease came due in January, even with his power of attorney and the NCIS Legal department petitioning on his behalf, the landlord would not allow Gibbs to re-sign the lease without Tony present, so the team had carefully packed up all of Tony’s things, with much of them going into storage while some were down in Gibbs’ basement or outside in his garage. Upon Ducky’s recommendations, Gibbs had managed to dig out Tony’s nebulizer and an assortment of comfortable clothes from some of the boxes downstairs and had them washed and neatly folded in the guest room dresser with the nebulizer staged next to the fan.

Stifling a yawn but still not quite ready for bed, Gibbs then turned to the bathroom. He had at least one more load of linens he wanted to get through and the toilet needed scrubbing. Pausing at the threshold, he reflected for not the first time that night that Shannon would have had a field day with him like this. While he always helped around the house when he was home, she regarded her husband as housebroken but not typically domestic. He knew if she saw him now she would call him on his nesting. 

The day they brought Kelly home, Shannon had been astounded at the immaculate condition of the house and had joked about it for months. It was only when she caught him steam cleaning the baby’s car seat after she left the minivan’s window open and some cherry blossoms had drifted in, she finally put her foot down, gave him a stern lecture about everyone eating a pound of dirt before they died and read him the riot act about limits.

Checking his watch, Gibbs saw he had another twelve hours before Tony was due in Maryland, giving him plenty of time to catch the uninterrupted eight hours he promised Ducky and still get some more things done. If he had a laptop at home, he could have e-mailed the list to McGee but he’d have to call him in a few hours when he should be in the office.

The dryer dinged its alert, drawing him downstairs to juggle loads, then, gathering up the pile of warm, fluffy, lavender scented towels, he trudged back upstairs, settling them on his bed to be folded.

The phone ringing awoke him in a rush. Gibbs’ head swung around wildly as he got his bearings and fumbled for the handset under the pile of towels. A quick view of his alarm clock showed he’d been asleep over ten hours.

“Yeah?”

“Hi, Gibbs, this is Brad. Did I wake you?”

“What’s happening?” Sitting up, Gibbs surveyed his room, absently folding towels as he spoke.

“I wanted to give you a heads up, Tony’s due to touch down in Norfolk any time now and it’s about an hour and a half flight from there.”

“Any word on how he’s doing?”

“Stable is all I’ve got. He has his own corpsman staying with him and his vitals have been pretty consistent for the entire flight.”

“Have you called Ducky yet?”

“Nope. He’s next on the list.”

“I’ll take care of that. We’ll be driving in together. You got everything set on your end?”

“As much as we can… Have Donald call me if he has any questions. Be sure you drive carefully, Gibbs; Tony’s told me stories and he won’t be happy with either of us if he has to share a room with you.”

Gibbs snorted at the doctor in amusement. “I’ll see what I can do.”

000

 

When they arrived at Bethesda, Brad Pitt was awaiting Gibbs and Ducky at reception. He jumped up to greet them both as soon as they cleared the rotating doors, “Gibbs. Ducky. How are you doing?”

“I’ll be doing great, once I see DiNozzo,” the lead agent answered tersely as he shook the doctor’s hand.

Warmly patting Brad on the arm with a supportive smile as he fell into step beside him, Ducky asked, “Have you heard anything further?”

“Not since I spoke with you. Last I heard, he handled the transfer at Norfolk well; he’s still stable and they’re continuing to keep him sedated.” Handing each man a visitor’s badge, Brad quickly escorted them to a nearby elevator. Swiping his badge through a security scanner, the doors immediately opened to reveal a large freight car. “They’re landing topside instead of on the bigger pad off Wood Road. This will take us express to the roof triage unit,” he explained as he waved them in.

While the two doctors conferred about their incoming patient, Gibbs stood at the front of the car just inside the doors, tuning them out as he watched the numbers rise. He could feel his anticipation rise with the elevator as he drew closer to a moment he’d increasingly had to realistically contemplate never seeing. The team leader worried how Tony would be and what lasting repercussions nearly six months in captivity would cause. He knew his senior field agent was resilient, but what little the former Marine had seen of Tony’s life with Bouvier suggested abuse and torture few men could emerge unscathed from and, with Tony’s hinted at childhood history, Gibbs shuddered to think of how deeply he would be affected.

With a ding, the doors slid open to reveal a floor bustling with activity. Brad briskly trotted out and turned right, following first one corridor and then another leading to an observation deck. The landing pad was currently empty, however Gibbs could see a team busy preparing for the new arrivals.

“We’ll stay in here. Only the deck crew goes out there unless they request us. Since this is a transfer of stable patients, we shouldn’t be needed until they’re inside,” Brad explained. “Coming from Norfolk, we should see them about there.” He directed their attention towards a point on the horizon.

Jethro squinted into the distance. 

“How much longer will it be before you expect them?” Ducky asked as he eagerly rested his hands on the window frame and stood on his tiptoes to watch for the copter.

The easygoing doctor shrugged. “They left Norfolk about an hour ago, so we’re looking at another half hour, if that.” He leaned around Ducky to ask the team, “Any idea on ETA?”

“Gonna be another forty-five or so,” was the reply. “Marine One is up, so they had to reroute.”

“Damnit! Why couldn’t they check for medical transports before closing airspace?” Gibbs complained, irritation creeping into his voice at the thought that the President’s helicopter would inconvenience a military medevac.

Ducky met Brad’s eyes before glancing towards Gibbs. “Jethro, he’s still stable after that long trip. He should be fine. As much as I also want him here now, it will be well worth the wait.”

“Should never have been gone in the first place,” Gibbs miserably groused before pointedly concentrating on the horizon. Standing off to one side, he silently brooded while the doctors continued their conversation from the elevator. A slight shift in his posture was the first sign he saw something; his back straightened, his head rose. As much as he needed glasses to read close up, he still had the eyes of a sniper. “I think that’s it.”

“What?” Ducky strained his eyes and rocked side to side to better see what his friend was pointing at.

“I think I see them,” Brad agreed as soon as the dark spot high in the sky coalesced into the cylindrical form of a transport helicopter. “I’d better get over there. I’ll call you in as soon as possible.” Flashing a reassuring grin at Gibbs, he gave Ducky’s arm a quick squeeze before joining the horde of medical personnel waiting in anticipation behind the deck crew.

“ETA, four minutes,” the deck leader affirmed as the large transport helicopter slowly flew into view.

Ducky edged closer to Gibbs to wait with him. They watched closely as the medflight swooped across the sky, heading directly towards them. The large chopper swung close to the hospital before rearing up to hover directly over the landing pad. Buffeted by the propwash, the windows creaked in their sashes as the helicopter slowly landed on the roof, coming to rest on its wheels with the lightest of touches. As soon as the wheels came into contact with the roof, the deck team swarmed the helicopter, unloading the three bundled up patients with practiced ease before whisking them into the hospital. From where they stood, the two men found it impossible to see which stretcher carried their friend with each of them so heavily bundled up in blankets and reflective heat wraps.

Brad scrambled after the gurneys, picking out which patient was his.

“Dr. Pitt! Over here!” one of the nurses called as she paced the gurney with several technicians shadowing it carrying various connected monitors and supportive equipment in its wake.

Standing at the verge of the trauma unit, Gibbs loomed impatiently behind Ducky, bouncing almost imperceptibly on the balls of his feet. Only the older man’s cautionary looks kept the agent in place. Behind the curtain, they could catch only the barest glimpses of the flurry of activity within. Nurses and technicians rushed in and out of the curtains, wheeling equipment and carrying specimens.

Gibbs quirked an eyebrow at his friend where he casually leaned against a nearby pillar. “Why aren’t you in there?”

“I’ll be stepping in once he’s admitted. They should be done shortly.” The coroner lifted an eyebrow in reply. “I think I’m much more needed out here for the moment,” he observed lightly, chuckling fondly at the expected harrumph from the team leader. 

Ducky pushed himself off the column to follow when Gibbs suddenly bolted towards Brad when he emerged from behind the curtain and started pacing in their direction. With a mixture of admiration and pride, the older man watched the young doctor perceptively deal with Tony’s gruff boss once again.

“How is he?” Gibbs demanded as he drew into Doctor Pitt’s personal space.

“All things considered, he looks pretty good. He had a few dips in vitals,” The doctor held up his hands in supplication when the agent crowded in, as he continued, “but they were well within the expected range and should resolve now that he’s here. He’s due downstairs for some tests shortly and I have a few people lined up for consults. His lungs are a bit congested, but not as bad as they suspected.” Brad shrugged. “They aren’t accustomed to Tony’s normal chest sounds,” he explained to placate Gibbs. “Don’t get me wrong, his ribs and lungs are pretty bruised up. He’ll be back to a strict schedule with his nebulizer for a while and maybe some additional respiratory therapy but I’m more worried about his kidneys; they took a couple bad hits during that last beating and the hypovolemic shock just added to the strain. What we drew for a urinalysis looked better than they described they were getting from him on the _Essex_ , so he may already be resolving on his own to some degree, but we’ll need to wait for those labs. His neuro tests are all acceptable, so we’ll be continuing the meds and wait and see what happens when he wakes up,” he cautioned. “Do you have any questions?”

“When can we see him?”

Dipping his head to hide his grin at the anticipated demand, Brad swung his clipboard in invitation and directed the men towards Tony’s cubicle. As Ducky and Gibbs entered, the attending nurse edged out of the way to allow them access to the gurney.

Closely shadowing the two doctors, Gibbs got his first real look at Tony in nearly six months. His agent was propped onto his side facing them with a pillow tucked against his chest, his face beneath the oxygen mask was ashen, his eyes tight with pain even under sedation. Tony’s sun bleached hair was pasted in dark clumps on his flushed forehead and his exposed skin displayed graphic testament to his proximity to the blast with burns, cuts and contusions scattered over his face and arms. A pressure bandage was firmly wrapped around his exposed bicep, showing a slight tinge of pink in one spot towards the back of his arm. Wires and tubes snaked under the sheet in every conceivable direction while monitors cast oddly patterned glows in the soft light. 

Standing with his weight resting against the side of the bed, Gibbs tentatively reached to gather one of Tony’s hands into his. Needing the contact. Looking down, Gibbs noticed both of his agent’s hands stretching towards the right edge of the bed secured by soft restraints. A startled glance towards the foot of the bed showed additional restraints snugging each ankle to a corner of the bed as his shock quickly transformed into rage.

“What the hell are those for?” he roared indignantly. “Don’t you have any idea what he’s been through?!”

While Ducky tried to shush the infuriated agent, Doctor Pitt hastily explained, “I’m well aware of what he’s been though, Agent Gibbs, but he’s been combative and unresponsive. According to the attending physician, it’s the only thing that’s calmed him down.”

“Take them off!”

“As much as I don’t want them on him either, I really cannot do that in good conscience before I see how he is once he regains consciousness.”

“Jethro, combativeness is not a wholly uncommon side effect of a head trauma. Perhaps we should leave them on until we see him awake.”

“NO!” When Tony shifted restlessly while the argument raged around him, Gibbs drew a breath then continued softly but firmly, “They come off now. I won’t have him waking up like that.”

“How about we meet you halfway?” Brad suggested reasonably. “We’ll loosen them for normal range of motion – they apparently had a tough time getting them on him. You know, yourself, how bad a patient he is at the best of times…”

At a firm nod from Ducky, Gibbs reluctantly acquiesced, “Okay. Do it.”

The nurse sought an affirming nod from Brad before loosening the bonds. While Gibbs watched her like a hawk, she gently lifted the sheet to ensure the padding holding Tony in position was well placed and took her time ensuring all the various leads were situated properly, disentangling any wires or tubes as she went.

Collecting Tony’s hand again, Gibbs observed, “He’s hot.”

“Yes, well, Tony has a low grade fever.” Ducky waved Gibbs’ concern off. “In light of his injuries, it’s to be expected. It will not be a concern so long as it can be contained. As a matter of fact, one of the functions of fevers is to accelerate healing, so it is actually somewhat desirable. Why, once, in Sri Lanka I was treating a man who dove into a flotilla of jellyfish, quite painful actually, and he--”

Brad checked his beeper the moment it went off, interrupting Ducky’s story. “They’re ready for us downstairs. Donald, are you ready?”

“Lead on, Bradley. Have you begun to wean him from the sedation?” Ducky inquired curiously while he rounded the bed quickly as the trauma team rapidly prepared Tony for transport once again.

“Yes. We’re already easing him off. Fortunately, he’s sensitive enough to it, he shouldn’t have it metabolized enough to show signs of waking until well after we get him into a room,” Brad recounted as he led them through the unit. “The nephrologist will meet us down at ultrasound in about twenty minutes and the neurologist you requested, Todd Gelfand, told me he’d break free when we called. He’s already ordered a CT scan and we’ll get full rads while we’re down there. With the amount of metal in him, I’ve flagged him for no MRIs anytime in the near future. I’m hoping the cardiologist will be just a precaution, but I want his opinion even though Tony’s been responsive to our alterations to his shock regimen. I’ll send him the results of the EKG and echo and he said he’d check in with me later.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Ducky agreed thoughtfully. “He’ll be having surgery immediately after we clear him for it?”

Doctor Pitt nodded emphatically. “It’s all lined up – the sooner, the better for his skin before we have an even more involved debridement and I don’t want to run the risk that some of that shrapnel from the blast shifts and does more damage. Gibbs, I’m going to have Stephanie escort you to a waiting room – she’ll be your liaison today. We shouldn’t be more than two hours unless we get a green light and a room is free. You’ll need to fill out some paperwork for me, also. I’ll let admin know where to find you.” With a rueful grin he added, “I know you know where to find the good high test. Help yourself. If you need to leave the building at all, Steph can get you a beeper.”

“Just take care of him,” Gibbs grumbled. “I can find my way around.”

Ducky lightly brushed Gibbs shoulder reassuringly before falling into step behind the gurney with Brad. Standing with Stephanie hovering at his elbow, the lead agent could only watch his second disappear from his view yet again.

000

  



	10. Chapter 10

  


Pulling his glasses off to rest his eyes for a moment, Gibbs sighed and sat back from staring at the clipboard. There was some small comfort in the all too familiar task of filling in these forms with Tony’s personal information but he had been working his way through the pile of admittance and release forms for what seemed like hours. Every time he thought he was done, Stephanie would reappear at his side with a smile and a new form for something he was now beyond even trying to understand -- if Brad and Ducky had it sent up to him to sign, that was good enough for him.

During the brief respites between Stephanie’s visits, Gibbs spent the balance of his day fielding calls, madly trying to stave off a potential rush on Bethesda by his frantic subordinates. He felt a little guilt over how he was finally reduced to ordering McGee and Ziva and threatening Abby to get his point across. Palmer, thankfully, had his hands full with the stand-in medical examiner, but had still managed to call him twice in the past hour. He was ready to turn his phone off and beg hospital policy, but knew it would only make things worse.

Quickly striding from the elevator with a cup of coffee in each hand, Gibbs was relieved to see no one waiting for him. He had dashed down to the residents’ break room for some refills. When Tony had been stricken with the Plague, once he saw what Tony’s boss needed to remain even partially human, Brad had clued Gibbs in to where he could find the strongest coffee available on the Bethesda campus. The medical residents apparently subsisted on the same dark brew he, himself, favored and didn’t mind sharing, so he availed himself of their coffee whenever he felt he could break free from his vigil.

“Agent Gibbs?”

Reluctantly setting his coffee down, Gibbs sighed and held his hand out for the new forms as Stephanie apologetically sidled into the waiting room behind him and pulled a seat up next to his.

“Doctor Mallard wanted me to tell you they’re bringing him into surgery now. Doctor Pitt has arranged for a microsurgeon to do the majority of the work so his injuries have the best hope of healing with minimal scarring. I need you to fill out these five forms and sign here, here and here on this one, so they can get going.”

“How long do they think it’ll be?”

Stephanie shrugged. “Doctor Pitt didn’t really say. He did suggest you get comfortable if you haven’t already. Several of these seats fold out for sleeping.”

“Yeah. I’ve been here before,” Gibbs noted with a frown as he realized, except for his own stay in ICU and McGee’s recent shooting, his visits had all been to his senior field agent. “Thank you.” He looked back at the small pile of papers in his lap and sighed, thumbing through them to see if he could fathom what they were for before resignedly just signing them.

“Jethro?” 

Ducky’s face swam into view as Gibbs stretched with a yawn.

“Is it over? How did it go?”

“Did you get that sleep I ordered last night?” the coroner asked with a soft smile.

With a sheepish grimace, Gibbs admitted, “Over ten hours. Don’t know why I fell asleep – must be all those damn forms I’ve been filling out all day. Tell me, Duck, how is he?”

Ducky made himself comfortable in a seat next to Jethro. “He’s in Recovery now. The surgery went quite well actually. The surgeon is extremely talented and he did absolutely brilliant work. It was a pleasure scrubbing in on it. Quite instructive-- Brad told me he practiced plastic surgery in Los Angeles until 9/11 at which point he signed on with the Navy. Why, he told me—“

“Duck, what are we looking at?”

With a put upon harrumph, Ducky explained, “The damage has been repaired as best as it can be. Anthony will require intensive wound care for the next several weeks at the very least. His kidneys appear to be rebounding but will require close monitoring for at least a few more days and then regular checks on a strict schedule. His heart is in amazing condition; that exercise regimen they had him on came to some good after all. While he could use some more body fat to rely upon for reserve energy, all the doctors agree, had he not been in as good a shape as he was, he most likely would not have survived. They’re all shaking their heads at how he managed to initiate an escape…’ 

‘As for Tony’s lungs, he severely bruised his ribs and lungs in the explosion, as a matter of fact, they had to drain quite a bit of bloody effusion from his chest before he could be transported. He’ll be on supplemental oxygen – mostly while resting and in the evening – for a while and, of course, the nebulizer. Brad will be keeping a close eye on everything, but feels he can do it on an outpatient basis as soon as he is otherwise ready to be discharged.”

“When can he come home?”

“Jethro, he’s still in Recovery!” Off the unrelenting stare, Ducky conceded, “It will be at least a couple of days, depending on how he does. We still haven’t been able to assess him while conscious, so we do not know the extent of his head injury. The anesthesiologist also found quite a bit of damage to his throat and larynx.”

“What from?”

Ducky shrugged tiredly. “It’s hard to say. His larynx shows signs of severe strain.” He allowed the rest to remain unsaid, but his sad eyes spoke volumes. “As for his throat, most likely from being force fed through a tube. There are signs of repeated abrasions.”

“Force fed?” Gibbs bit out.

“We both know how stubborn Anthony is – if he chose to follow through with a hunger strike, he’d do it. I cannot begin to imagine the extent of his torture but, if what we see now is the end result of months of torment, I can well imagine trying to take control of one’s fate.”

The stark realization that Tony may have tried to kill himself flooded Gibbs thoughts. “Duck, are there any other signs of….self-harm?”

Ducky patted him on the knee. “Not that we were able to ascertain, however, he has severe abrasions on his wrists, so they may not be obvious. They seemed to keep a close watch of him, so I would imagine it would take some doing to do something more overt.”

Doctor Pitt’s nurse, Emma, appeared in the doorway, interrupting any further discussion. “Agent Gibbs, they’re moving Tony upstairs now, if you’d like to wait in his room,” she offered.

Gibbs quickly rose to his feet and gathered his things while Ducky slowly rose to join him. They followed the nurse through several long hallways then up a few floors in the elevator before reaching the Critical Care Unit. Once there, Emma led them into a small single bed room. One wall was dominated by a large window facing the hallway, while the opposite wall held a window which overlooked the sprawling Bethesda campus. Gibbs gratefully noticed a reclining chair had already been placed near the bed, obviously in deference to his habit of staying the night with Tony while he was hospitalized.

“Where is he?” Gibbs asked the petite nurse as he got himself settled in the room for a prolonged stay.

As if on cue, Brad Pitt trotted into the room with a gurney at his heels. Lowering the adjoining side on both beds, Tony was efficiently transferred to the larger bed and his monitors were all swapped over and double-checked. Within minutes, everyone cleared out to monitor him from a station just outside the semi-circle of rooms.

Brad greeted Gibbs with an easy smile despite the hectic day. “How’re you holding up, Gibbs?”

“Has he shown any signs of waking?”

“Not yet, but it should be any time now. It’s all up to Tony at this point. We’re pretty much on his schedule from this point on.” 

Tony slept securely propped on his side, unaware of the scrutiny he was under. While everyone sat watch over him, the only sound in the room was the beep of different monitors and Tony’s labored breathing. Gibbs could see, sometime over his busy day, someone had bathed him, washing his hair and removing the layer of dirt, soot and blood from his body and with it, seemingly years as well. Aside from an occasional reflexive grimace, Tony slept peacefully for nearly two more hours, his tousled hair and the impossibly long eyelashes resting on his scuffed cheeks giving him an added vulnerability.

Noticing the gold collar still on Tony’s neck below a bandage taped to his throat where the sword had cut him, Gibbs quietly growled, “What’s that still doing on?”

“It wasn’t a priority, Jethro. It doesn’t have a traditional clasp, so we’ll need to cut it off later when we get a chance. It isn’t interfering with anything for the time being.” Ducky placidly assured him.

“What about the tests?”

“With the quantity of shrapnel he absorbed, an MRI was out of the question. We had some very minor artifact in his chest CT scans, but were readily able to see what we needed. It can wait, Jethro.”

Frowning to himself, Gibbs scooted closer to Tony, perching on the edge of his seat to study him as he slept. His mind wandered while his gaze stayed locked on his man, marveling at the strange chain of events leading to this moment while he wondered about the eventual outcome. Gibbs was too pragmatic a man to have any preconceived notions as to what to expect, especially from his unpredictable senior field agent, yet he found himself trying to rein in the myriad of scenarios racing through his head with wild abandon.

Finally, breaking Gibbs’ reverie, Ducky looked up from his book to point to the heart monitor. “He’s beginning to rise,” he noted.

Brad nodded in agreement as he rose. “Emma, please prepare the medications we discussed.”

“Yes, Doctor Pitt.”

“You’re going to let him wake up?” Gibbs asked more by way of demand.

“We’re going to allow him to awaken, Jethro, but hopefully in a controlled manner,” Ducky explained. “The dear boy will likely need some supportive care, so we’ve planned accordingly.” He smiled reassuringly at the team leader next to him even as he slid to the edge of his seat.

Ducky watched Gibbs intently concentrate over Tony. His scrutiny hadn’t wavered from the moment Tony entered the room, but, with the news that he was awakening, Jethro had tightened like a coiled spring ready to burst. Tony shifted with a soft hiss then settled his weight back into the padding. His breathing harshened with awareness, the soft wheeze roughening into barking huffs of air.

“Give him a half cc of morphine,” Ducky directed firmly. “It should be enough to take a bit of the edge off,” he explained to Gibbs.

Brad nodded his agreement to Emma, who turned to the IV port while the men continued to monitor the injured agent. Tony’s breaths softened into less ragged gulps. He shifted again before falling still with a whimper.

Brad leaned low over his patient. “Tony?”

One hand feebly swatted in the doctor’s general direction while the eyelashes briefly flickered.

“Gibbs, why don’t you try?”

“Tony? Come on. Wake up. You’re safe; we’ve gotcha,” the lead agent assured his second. “Come on, DiNozzo. Time to get up!” 

Gibbs looked to the two doctors for advice as Tony appeared to fight through the fog. His muscles seemed to tense and relax in an almost spastic pattern as his face twisted and contorted even while his eyelids resolutely stayed closed.

Ducky stroked the limp hair back. “Come now, Anthony, let’s open your eyes.”

As Ducky’s hand came to rest on the back of Tony’s neck, the injured agent suddenly sprang to life, pushing and kicking for all he was worth while making horrific, broken keening sounds from deep in his throat as he senselessly tried to crawl away. As Brad grabbed his flailing hands, Gibbs latched onto his feet, trying to keep him from hurting himself.

“Emma, tighten the restraints!” Brad tersely ordered as Tony’s hands ineffectually fluttered near his face. “Ducky, more sedation!”

“No! Duck, take his feet!” Gibbs gritted his teeth as Emma cinched one ankle down and moved over to the other. “Tony! Wake up! Come on. Tony!” He shook his head at the young doctor, who was still grappling with his weakening patient. “DiNozzo! Snap out of it before you hurt yourself!” 

Gibbs latched on to the arm which had broken free of the doctor’s grasp and wrestled it back to the bed. He watched in alarm as his injured man began to hyperventilate, his breath stealing his voice, turning the odd keen into a pathetic wheezing gurgle.

_“DiNOZZO!”_

With determination borne of desperation, Gibbs resorted to the one thing which always reached Tony, even through the ravages of the Plague. The slap was lighter than a typical slap, yet just as effective. Tony immediately stilled under their hands. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes flew open to stare through the siderail in shock at the familiar touch.

“Jethro!” Ducky exclaimed disapprovingly. “He has a head injury,” the coroner censured while Brad quickly got out his penlight with a concerned frown.

“It wasn’t as hard as usual,” Gibbs protested defensively as he crouched to look into eyes grayed with pain and fatigue, which tracked into his as he drew into view. “Hey, Tony. You okay?”

Closing his eyes tight against the penlight shining into his eyes, Tony took a long, shuddering breath as he stubbornly tore his head out of Brad’s grasp to look at his superior. His eyes followed him, slowly blinked then resumed their scrutiny of his face, locking onto his blue eyes for a long moment before sliding away. Cracked lips parted to allow a swollen tongue to swipe at them before retreating. 

“B- b- bosss?”

A slow grin teased the corners of Gibbs’ mouth. “Yeah, DiNozzo, it’s me. Welcome home.”

Ducky eagerly leaned in over the lead agent’s shoulder to join the reunion. He softly enthused, “Anthony, it is so good to see you again! How are you feeling?”

Tony’s eyes flashed uncertainly towards the medical examiner before returning to Gibbs then lowering to an undetermined spot on the senior agent’s midsection.

“Anthony?”

The wide eyes, which wouldn’t meet his, set in a familiarly apprehensive, searching expression, gave the coroner the most heart-sinking déjà vu he could ever wish to never experience again. When he had seen it in his mother, as unwelcome as it was, it had come as no surprise as it ran through her side of the family and she was quite elderly after all. After the explosion, when Jethro had awakened days later to turn that lost, uncomprehendingly vulnerable gaze his way, Ducky had steeled himself to supportively ride it out. 

He had to know…

“Anthony, do you know who I am?” he enquired in the softest of voices, his lilting accent giving it almost a musical quality. Watching closely, the elderly doctor saw the younger man tense while Gibbs’ eyes suddenly tightened in realization.

“Tony, do you know who Ducky is?”

Peeking tentatively at the coroner before quickly looking away, Tony minutely shook his head before rasping, “No, Boss.” His hands clenched at the straps as his breaths shortened even more.

Gibbs pointed up at Brad then over to Emma. “How about either of them, Tony? Do either of them look familiar?”

Shyly looking up at the doctor and nurse, Tony worried his lower lip as he glanced nervously at Gibbs then studied the far window. Visibly steeling himself, he replied shakily, “No. I’m sorry, Boss.”

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay,” Gibbs reassured him as he exchanged concerned frowns with the doctors as the monitors started to chorus the growing tension in the body which lay before them.

Coming to a decision, Brad tipped his head to Emma to whisper to her, “Could you see if Dr. Gelfand is free? Let him know Tony has regained consciousness.”

With a curt nod, Emma raced from the room.

Reaching in with crooked fingers, Gibbs gently tipped Tony’s chin up so he faced him. “Tony? You okay?”

Grey-green eyes peered at him through the lashes before averting themselves once more. “Y-yes, B- boss.”

The lead agent winced at the rough whisper.

Brad leaned forward, offering a straw. “Here, Tony, drink this. It should help,” he offered circumspectly. As his patient shied from him, he drew up with a sigh and then carefully passed the small cup to Gibbs, suggesting, “See if he’ll drink for you.”

“Here, small sips,” Gibbs ordered without preamble, watching in confused satisfaction when Tony obediently forced some of the water down his abused throat. “Better?” he asked when his agent paused to cough lightly.

“Yes, Boss. Thank you, Boss.”

Mystified, Gibbs looked to the two doctors. “What’s going on with him?”

“Agent Gibbs, you’re looking well,” Doctor Todd Gelfand greeted as he strode into the room.

“Doc.” Gibbs shook his hand, remembering waking up twice to this man’s face himself. He was glad Ducky had suggested him for Tony’s care; the doctor was a good man and one of the best neurologists available.

The neurologist got right down to business. “Hi, Tony! How are you feeling?” His gentle smile began to fade when he received no response whatsoever that Tony had even heard him. “Tony?”

Brad planted his hands on the other side of their patient. He leaned over Tony to whisper the suggestion, “Have Gibbs tell him to answer.”

The lead agent looked between the two doctors. At the nodded urging, he ordered, “Tony, I need you to answer the doctor’s questions. Okay?”

Green eyes darted towards him then back to a point beyond the siderail. “Y-yes, Boss.”

“What’s your name?”

Tony weakly rasped, “Anthony DiNozzo, sir.”

“Good! Do you know where you are?”

“Hospital, sir?”

“You can call me Todd. Okay? Can you look at me, Tony?”

“Yes, Todd.” The green eyes struggled to meet the doctor’s gaze for a moment before dilating in fear and automatically averting again.

“Do you know why you’re in the hospital?”

“Hurts, Todd.”

“What hurts, Tony?”

Glistening eyes blinked at him. “Everything, Todd.”

“Okay, we’re going to help you with that once you answer a few more questions. Can you tell me where you live?”

“In my Master’s house, Todd.”

“Who is your master?”

The wavering gaze wandered up to the doctor warily as if he were trying to trick him. “My Master, Todd.”

“How did he become your master?”

“Father disowned me. Sent me away, Todd.”

Gibbs’ disbelieving eyes locked with Ducky’s.

“Tony, how old are you?”

His eyes grew distant. “Not sure, Todd.”

“Can you guess?”

The brows furrowed slightly.

“More than twenty?”

Tony hesitantly nodded.

“How about twenty-five?”

“I think so, Todd.”

“Thirty?”

He grimaced in confusion.

“Let’s try this: How old were you when your father sent you away?”

“Twelve, Todd.”

“How long have you lived with your master?”

“A lifetime, Todd.”

Gibbs rocked backwards and bleakly stared at the ceiling for a moment. He glanced over at Tony’s heart monitor which continued to climb. Mutely seeking out the doctors, he could see each of them continually checking the monitors’ status as Tony’s stress levels skyrocketed.

With a frown, Doctor Gelfand changed tack. “Tony, can you tell me what year it is?”

A blank look crossed his patient’s face followed by a look of pure horror when he realized he didn’t know that answer either. “I don’t… S-s-sir?”

“Try not to be concerned, let’s try another question, okay? How about the president? Which recent presidents do you remember?”

Off Gibbs’ nod, he tried, “Carter? F-ford. Rea-gan… --Bush?” 

“Anyone else?”

“Think, Tony,” Gibbs encouraged.

Turning his pleading eyes in Gibbs’ direction, Tony shook his head. “I-I-I dunno, Boss-s. Too many questions--”

“It’s okay, Tony. It’ll come in time,” the doctor reassured him.

“I’m s-s-sorry, Boss,” Tony apologized between huffs of breath. “Please,.. forgive—“

“Tony, I need you to relax,” Brad interrupted as his patient’s vitals continued to climb.

“Tony, settle down. There’s nothing to forgive, you did real good!” Gibbs asserted as the doctors worked all around him.

“I need you to try to breathe deeply, Tony,” Brad softly advised as he swung an oxygen mask over his patient’s face. He paused and looked to the senior agent as Tony twisted his face away without breaking eye contact with Gibbs. “Gibbs, I need to get him on a non-rebreather for a while – his pulse-ox is dropping.”

“Tony, let Brad put that on,” he ordered. With a sigh of resignation, he reached for the mask as Ducky slipped the cannula out of the way, positioning it to the doctors' satisfaction. “Now leave that there. Got it?” he asked gruffly, smiling at the meek look Tony granted him in reply.

While the doctors conferred nearby, Gibbs watched Tony drift between consciousnesses. A few minutes later, with a signal from Brad, Emma injected some medication into one of Tony’s IV ports. Gibbs watched with relief as his agent’s pinched face finally relaxed into sleep.

Breaking away from the other two doctors, Ducky paced towards Gibbs from where they had been discussing Tony’s case at the foot of the bed. “Jethro, I have always said that you two are more alike than either of you will ever admit but this takes the cake.” The elderly doctor shook his head in amazement.

“Duck, we’re not talking tastes in clothing…”

“Well, that much is obvious…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. The thing of it is, I would wager based on the Marines’ reports of his comments and his behavior we saw before that juncture, due to the trauma from the explosion, Tony is suffering amnesia. With the lack of a concrete physical cause, the possibility exists that it is dissociative in nature rather than organic.”

“There’s no physical cause?” Gibbs asked doubtfully. He had been stunned by the extent of Tony’s injuries.

“The scans have been unremarkable. He has a serious concussion and a very minor skull fracture, but no signs of bleeding, no displacement, no undue pressure. While definitely concussed, his brain is as normal as it has ever been.”

“Duck, he thinks I’m his owner.”

“He calls you his Boss,” the doctor corrected.

“Yeah, it’s what the subtitles say that concerns me.”

“Nevertheless, you are his one connection to the world right now. And, his world is one where he was sent away from his childhood home to serve a sadistic master before coming here.”

Shaking his head, Gibbs’ stubbornly protested, “How does that protect him?”

Ducky removed his glasses to lightly knead the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “We both know Anthony does nothing in halves. While there is no way of knowing specifically what triggered this, I would imagine one scenario which could have caused his brain to come up with this would be that his status in life was reinforced when he woke up in a state of confusion on the ship only to find himself restrained and in pain. If he couldn’t block out the entire situation and all he’s been through, it removed what would make it even less tolerable – his life of freedom. If serving a master is his sorry state in life, it’s safer than being kidnapped and—“ he shook his head sorrowfully. “—everything that followed.”

“You’re sure it happened in the explosion?”

“The Marines reported he knew who and what he was while they were held captive and everything we saw and have heard since supports the theory that his amnesia is a recent development. You, more than anybody in this room, should understand how mysteriously the mind can work to protect itself.”

“Doesn’t mean I gotta like it, Duck.”

000

  



	11. Chapter 11

[Artwork by Mella68](http://mella68.livejournal.com/87952.html)

His eyes sluggish and not quite under his control, Tony struggled up from a drugged sleep to find himself facing the observation window this time. While, with proper padding and good drugs, he could spend a little time on his chest and even less on his back, he spent much of his time propped onto one side or the other, much to his relief. It was really the only position he found the most remotely comfortable. Tony wasn’t sure which way he preferred facing – one way he could see all the curious onlookers who stopped and stared into his room unchecked unless someone, usually his Boss, chased them off; the other way, he didn’t have to face them, however he still knew they were there and he couldn’t see them or know what was coming.

His Boss had explained the gawkers away as people simply curious or concerned about him. He had told Tony a lot of people had been looking for him and were happy he was home safe now. Tony knew it had to be a story created to make him feel better – he couldn’t imagine it even if it was his Boss who told him. As it was, the constant attention made him feel like an oddity on display.

Tony’s past several waking memories were mainly of pokes, prods, tests and lots and lots of questions he simply didn’t have the answer to. Everything seemed to frighten him at this point even as his Boss kept reassuring him it was okay and he was safe. His Boss had barely left his side; he was always right next to him whenever he awoke. Tony found great comfort in the man’s presence and wondered at that. His own Master terrified him more than he’d ever admit, yet he instinctively knew he could trust this man.

His focus phased in and out unpredictably as his mind cleared. Not seeing his Boss next to him where he had proven he could be counted on to be, Tony cautiously sniffed the air. Between the constant stream of air from the cannula and the incredible pain a deep breath brought with it, sniffing wasn’t his best choice but the coffee and sawdust scent which proclaimed ‘Boss’ was usually easy to detect with his sensitive nose. The heart monitor over his head betrayed his agitation at not being able to sense his Boss’ presence with increasingly frequent chirrups as his heart rate began to climb.

Nurse Emma trotted in, greeting him cheerily as she set a tray down and checked him over. Even given how the past couple of days had been a blur, he liked the perky nurse. Boss liked her, too, and had instructed Tony to do anything she asked, so he knew she could be trusted. He spared her a quick glance before his eyes caught a triangle of white -- just a flash -- but it drew them to it. Concentrating on that point, Tony began to methodically separate dark forms until they coalesced into people on the other side of the glass. Boss was outside the room, standing with some of the people in the window. Their gazes locked for a minute before Tony’s eyes dropped away, but long enough for him to have seen the supportive smile Boss had given him.

Tony inquisitively watched the small group watching him. Aside from his Boss, there were no familiar faces to be seen. A few minutes later, Ducky appeared in the window, deep in discussion with Brad and a tall, thin younger man. Tony felt indescribable relief at being able to recognize someone. Even with his limited time with them, Brad and Ducky had rapidly become people he hoped he could count on as friends. They joined the group, finding themselves enfolded in it as they continued their conversation. Tony noticed his Boss had positioned himself so he was in his eyesight at all times and could feel his body relax in response. He could hear the monitor settle at a steady beat above him as Emma continued to serenely busy herself around him. 

Tony groggily cooperated with his nurse’s soft requests as much as he was able, shifting to give her access to bandages and tubing. As soon as he was able to convince his Boss he would be good without them, the restraints had been removed, leaving him with only his Master’s gold collar and cuffs. As much as it relieved him how everyone had respected his unspoken desire they not be touched, it worried him how much attention they received, especially the way his Boss’ face darkened with barely controlled rage whenever he paused to possessively regard his Master’s collar. Even though his Boss repeatedly assured him it would never happen, Tony strongly suspected when his Master came for him, his Boss would have something extremely colorful to say about it. He couldn’t escape the unsettling sensation which took up residence in his gut whenever he wondered at the titanic clash which would happen when the two powerful men finally met – with him helplessly caught in the middle.

With a hushed apology, Emma raised the head of the bed slightly, knowing Tony found the position to be somewhat uncomfortable. She helped him shift slightly and reinforced the padding to take the pressure off his body. Once she was satisfied with his new position, Emma placidly spoon-fed Tony some sherbet, taking the time to give him tiny bites on the tip of the spoon and not pushing him to swallow. Tony struggled to eat the cool orange flavored treat; as difficult as it was to swallow, it felt good when the frozen sherbet slipped down his throat.

Keeping one eye on Tony, Gibbs listened to the doctors’ recommendations. He already knew he was responding well to the treatments. Soon, Tony would be sufficiently stable to go home provided he had ongoing supportive care. Now, however, they needed to get the entire group up to date and figure out how to best give Tony what he needed when they got to that point.

Jimmy and Ducky had already offered to check in on Tony each day for bandage changes, IV antibiotic therapy and basic monitoring, with Brad making regular house calls between office visits. Abby, Ziva and Tim were charged with Gibbs’ list; Tim had a copy of the storage locker key, so Abby would take him in the hearse while Ziva took care of the shopping list. Gibbs had put in for two weeks additional leave, hoping that would be enough but now realized Tony would need far longer ongoing care, especially if his memory did not return soon. 

Once they realized Tony would require more than basic care, Ducky had contacted his former assistant, Gerald Jackson, about working as Tony’s home health aide. As luck would have it, Gerald’s most recent client had recently moved to Florida, leaving him to pick up temporary positions through an agency until another permanent position cropped up. Gibbs was glad to have Gerald watching Tony; he had known the man for a few years before his shoulder was permanently injured by Ari’s bullet and knew he was the perfect man for the job.

000

Still scrubbing his hair with the towel, Gibbs strode confidently towards Tony’s room. Brad had arranged for him to use the doctors’ showers, so he had run downstairs for a quick shower and shave while Tony had a bandage change. Reaching Tony’s room, he was waylaid in the hall by Brad Pitt.

“Gibbs, got a minute?”

“What’s up?” He peered into the room to see Tony propped up, staring at a bowl on his bedside table.

“This is the third meal he hasn’t touched. He was doing fine when Emma fed him a little the first couple of days, but I can’t let him go much longer without intervening and he definitely can’t go home without being able to eat.”

“Do you think it’s his throat?”

“Maybe partially, but we’ve been giving him food he’s managed up until now. He’s even eaten a little when we’ve spoon fed him, so I don’t think it’s entirely that.”

Gibbs watched Tony stare vacantly into space; he had noticed every once in a while Tony would simply zone out into an almost meditative state if the monitors were to be believed. As his immediate injuries stabilized, the wounded agent had become increasingly responsive, or at least responsive to Gibbs. Tony had gradually accepted Ducky, Brad and Emma but the remainder of the staff couldn’t make even the most basic requests of Tony without earning a blank look and a searching glance towards Gibbs for guidance.

“I’ll speak with him,” Gibbs offered. He calmly breezed into Tony’s room, noticing wryly how Tony shook off his stupor and tried to straighten up a little when he saw him enter. Nodding towards the bowl, Gibbs placidly commented, “What ya got there? Applesauce?”

Chewing on his lower lip, Tony blinked once. “Yes, Boss,” he rasped.

“You like applesauce?

He shrugged and returned to staring at his knees.

“Wanna try something else?”

Remaining silent, Tony shook his head.

Pursing his lips, Gibbs sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees and gripping his fingers, as he considered how to best broach the subject. Despite the outward appearance he was trying to project, he honestly felt well beyond his element with Tony, even though he had had success with dealing with the minutiae up to now. The problem was, Gibbs couldn’t get a handle on what was going on inside his head – while he understood the effects of amnesia all too well, for the rest he had absolutely no frame of reference. 

Pausing to wonder if it might help, he ran the conversation he’d had with Abby through his mind…

“Gibbs, just because I wear a collar doesn’t mean I’m into that sort of thing. Well… granted, I did have a boyfriend once who liked to tie me up and…”

“Abs! Too much!”

“Okay, well, I do have some friends who are into, you know, total power exchange and stuff but this is totally different, like people who build wooden boats versus oil tanker captains different, Gibbs!” Her hands flapped half-words as she organized her thoughts. “First, you can’t get more non-consensual, which is, like, a _huge_ no-no in the lifestyle; second, there are no really set rules, so it isn’t like you can say this means that anyways…”

“There’s gotta be something you can tell me. Help me out here.”

“Okay. Let’s say we’re discussing the stereotypes, okay?” Off Gibbs’ nod, she continued, “So, you’re supposed to say, like, ‘Sir’ at the end of every sentence. You said he keeps saying ‘Boss’…”

“Yeah, non-stop.”

“Okay. So they’re following the script with that. There can also be really strict personal rights – what they can and can’t do, even with their own body. Essentially, it doesn’t belong to them. Any of it. And, it’s hands off Master’s property.’ 

‘And, it’s like, everything has a rule.” She scrunched up her face for a moment as an alarmed expression dashed across it before amending, “Crazy rules, Gibbs, not like your rules, ‘cause your rules are cool and have a purpose and stuff,” Abby flashed a tentative, wryly half-apologetic grin at him before continuing, “But, anyways, if there isn’t a rule for something, odds are pretty good there actually was, once you do it. Another related thing would be lots of mind games – maybe set them up to think they should use their free will but anything not directly ordered earns a correction – think a twisted “Simon Says” with punishment…”

Gibbs’ eyes flashed to Tony. Bouvier had fed him small morsels from his own plate, but Gibbs couldn’t think of any time over the course of those two long days when Tony had fed himself or even touched food. He had even sat next to the trough and waited for the horseman to give him a drink from the hose.

“Tony, why aren’t you eating?”

The green eyes closed tight as Tony withdrew even further. Gibbs’ gut clenched. He had been trying to not pressure Tony and only actually ordered him to do something when Brad requested it or it was obvious he needed the prompting.

Gibbs put a touch of command into his soft plea. “DiNozzo, I need you to look at me.” When Tony looked at him out the corner of his eye, Gibbs pressed, “I need you to eat that applesauce. Got it? As much as you want – stop when you feel full. You can do it yourself.”

Shaking his head in anguished silence, Tony’s eyes bleakly drifted in and out of focus on the corner of the room as the heart monitor betrayed his emotions.

“DiNozzo, give me your hand.” Gibbs lifted the hand from where it had tangled in the sheets and pressed the spoon into it, waiting until resistance gave way to acceptance. “Atta boy. Now, let’s scoop a little up and open. You know how to do it.” Cupping the bowl in his hand so Tony could more easily reach it, he guided Tony’s hand through the motion, awkwardly getting a little into his mouth. “Good. Do you need my help or can you keep going?” 

Gibbs watched proudly as Tony drowsily rolled the food around his mouth before visibly swallowing then stabbed at the bowl for another spoonful. While his motions were clumsy and his position on the bed didn’t help, Tony managed to get the food into his mouth. With half an eye on Gibbs, Tony struggled through much of the bowl, pausing frequently to take a break between mouthfuls before trying again. Finally exhausted, Tony rested back into the pillow, his hand curled under his chin with the spoon still clutched in it. 

Gibbs stroked Tony’s head affectionately. “Atta boy. You did good.” He couldn’t help notice how Tony limply leaned into the gentle caress as his breathing slowed and settled.

In minutes, Tony was asleep with a contented smile on his face.

“I don’t know how you do it, Gibbs,” Doctor Pitt whispered from the doorway. He silently paced in to check the monitors and then record the readings on Tony’s chart.

“If I can keep him eating, how soon before he can go home?”

“At this point, there’s not much more we can do for him here you couldn’t do at home. Considering the condition he was in when he arrived, he’s stabilized remarkably well and we can monitor his kidneys and lungs on an outpatient basis. You already have your support system in place… Why don’t we start transitioning him today and aim for two days from now? Does that work for you?”

000

“Boss, you’re back!”

Setting his coffee down on the bedside table, Gibbs peered curiously at Tony while Brad stood off to one side shaking his head bemusedly. “Yeah, I told you I’d be back as soon as they were done with you,” he reminded his strangely animated agent. “I ran out for some decent coffee and made a few phone calls.”

“You couldn’t call me – I don’t have a phone! ..need a phone, Boss,” Tony pointed out in a hoarse whisper, frowning at his empty hands. He brightened noticeably. “Nurse Emma’s here – isn’t she pretty, Boss?” Stifling a cough, Tony grinned broadly at the giggling nurse.

Gibbs searched the doctor’s face as he nodded in Tony’s direction. “What’d you give him?”

Brad chuckled. “We’re transitioning him off the IV, so we gave him his pain meds intramuscularly about twenty minutes ago. He’s just starting to get revved up.”

The team leader shook his head as Tony looked around the room as if for the first time. He tilted his head first one way and then the other, watching his fingers temple, curl and intertwine while occasionally sparing one of his spectators a toothy grin. 

When Emma held a cup up to him, Tony raised an eyebrow in concentration as his lips clumsily sought the straw before finally latching on with a look of triumph and a sudden rush of bubbles. Swinging his mischievous gaze towards Gibbs, he stopped blowing bubbles to obediently sip his drink, only to gargle it noisily before recoiling with a wince. Looking around frantically with his eyes wide and cheeks full, he spat out his drink, just as Gibbs urgently swung a basin in its path, choking thickly while his hands flew to his throat. As soon as he calmed down, the nurse slipped a lozenge into his mouth with stern instructions to not chew or swallow it, earning a lazy wink as her patient flopped his head onto the pillows.

When Brad came alongside Gibbs, Tony snatched his stethoscope off his neck. “Oh, no you don’t!” He slurred around the lozenge as he rubbed the bell between his hands. “Gotta warm this sucker up. D’ya keep it in a freezer or somethin’?” He put the earpieces into position and rested the bell on his chest while the two men watched in amusement. “Thup-thup thup-thup thup-thup… Hey, this doesn’t sound like tha-at.” Pausing to catch his breath, he pointed vaguely in the general direction of the steadily beeping heart monitor before suddenly directing his attention to the door. “Quack, quack! Hey, Ducky!” he sing-songed.

“Anthony, you seem to be in fine form today! Bradley, I see you’ve started to change the protocols. IM?” At Brad’s nod, he enquired, “How is he handling it? Aside from the obvious, have you noted any side-effects?”

“Everything looks pretty good so far – his SATs have dropped a negligible amount, so we may want to consider a slightly lower dose or, perhaps, a combo drug if the trend continues but, if this is the worst of it and he continues to handle it well, we should be able to send him home with this in tablet form.”

“How often do we have this to look forward to?” Gibbs asked as he watched Tony’s antics with an amused shake of his head.

“It’s hard to say. A lower dose a little more often might minimize the side-effects. Pain relief has always been a problem with him,” Brad needlessly reminded him. “He’s going to need something, however; reducing his pain will help accelerate the healing process.”

His eyes at half-mast, Tony rested his head on the pillows. Rocking his head back and to the side, he noticed the various bags of fluids hung behind him. “Hey, those are funny looking balloons. I had a balloon once – my father popped it…” Flopping his head forward, he met Gibbs’ ice blue stare head-on. “Boss, you have really beautiful eyes; has anyone ever told you that?”

“I can’t say that they have, DiNozzo.”

Tony shook his head. “I used to love the color blue, but I don’t really like it anymore, Boss.”

Suspecting the reason and hoping to jog Tony’s memory, Ducky leaned close to ask gently, “Do you know why you don’t like the color blue, Anthony?”

“I…” His expression clouded in confusion. “I just don’t like it, Ducky,” he mumbled softly. Tony watched Emma draw some blood from the Hickman catheter inserted in his chest. “I’m not liking red much these days either,” he added morosely. “What gives? You said I needed more blood but you keep taking it away!” he complained petulantly before coughing lightly.

“Just a little bit, Tony,” Emma assured with a wink.

“I like pink. You look good in pink, Nurse Emma.” Tony brightened when the nurse giggled as she trotted out of the room.

“Here, Tony, sip this slowly,” Brad offered patiently. “You’re gonna wear out that voice of yours.”

“’m fine,” Tony muttered around the straw. “Mother never let me drink without a straw either; she was always afraid I’d get something on my sailor suit. …. When we were in the accident they cut my suit off and I never had to wear it again… I felt guilty I didn’t miss it.”

“Why is that?” Ducky asked.

“’cause it meant I didn’t miss her...” He added matter-of-factly, “but I did.” Lost in his thoughts, Tony fell still for a moment, seemingly falling asleep before opening his eyes again with an expansive yawn. Hooded green eyes turned to Gibbs. “Mother had a red car – a Mercedes 450 SL, she wanted one just like Bobby Ewing. What kinda car do you have, Boss?”

“Maybe you should rest for a while.” 

“Don’ wanna rest, Boss. Please?”

After several beats, he finally relented, “An F-250.”

“Pick-up truck.” Tony sounded disappointed.

“And a ’72 Dodge Challenger,” Gibbs added, noting the flash of interest.

“Pony car... I LOVE pony cars… Does it have a Hemi? What color is it, Boss?”

“Yeah, it’s got a Hemi. Yellow with a black racing stripe down the middle.”

“Whoa…”

“I drive a Charger at work.”

“A Dodge Charger? Like the Dukes?!” his reedy voice cracked, earning a stern look from Gibbs.

The senior agent retrieved the cup from the table and wordlessly presented it to his subordinate. Tony meekly sipped from the straw thrust in front of him. Speaking around it, he eyed the coroner. “What kinda car do you drive, Ducky?”

“I drive a Morgan, Anthony. As a matter of fact, I rebuilt it myself, which was no small feat considering the termite damage.”

Tony leaned back from the cup, the straw still clenched in his teeth and waving around with droplets falling from it with each word. “Old British car. Why do they have a wooden frame when it….rains so much there, Ducky?” Tony frowned petulantly when Gibbs reclaimed the straw with an upraised eyebrow.

Ducky chuckled. “Wood doesn’t rust?” he posited.

“Father had a Maserati Quattroporte III. He likes Italian cars.”

“What do you like, Tony?” Brad encouraged.

His patient’s grin grew wide. “Ferraris. One of these days.…I want a red 308 GTS….like Magnum’s!” Tony panted shallowly before asking, “What do you have,...Brad?”

“Come on, Tony. Deep breaths through the nose,” Brad coached. “A Range Rover Sport.”

“Master has a….Discovery.” Shifting to find a comfortable position, Tony stared bleakly into space. He raised his arm, curiously watching the light reflect off the glittering gold wrist band. Reaching for it, he almost touched it before recoiling as if burned. Tucking his hand under the sheet, he looked around nervously, shifting his weight away from anyone who met his eyes before dropping them to his lap.

“Tony? You okay?”

“’m fine, Boss.” His eye twitched and he raised a hand to his temple to rub it away.

“Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Room’s sparkin’.” He shrugged.

“Sparking?” Ducky leaned in close. “Are you seeing flashes of light? Is there any pain?”

“Too many questions,” Tony protested under his breath with an arrested roll of his eyes. He squeezed his lids tight before replying, “Yeah. But, I’m really fine… Honest. I don’t have to go back there, do I, Boss? I like it much better here.” He turned vulnerable eyes towards Gibbs, momentarily stealing his breath when the lead agent saw the depths of his plea.

Carefully schooling his features, Gibbs shook his head definitively. “You’re never going back, Tony. You’re mine now – always have been.”

“But, they had me before…”

“They stole you from us. Not gonna happen again. Do you remember how you got there?” Gibbs pressed, hopeful to get the one answer he needed to know while Tony’s defenses were down, his inhibitions free. 

Ducky and Brad both frowned disapprovingly as they protectively crowded closer to the bed.

Tony shook his head then clutched it suddenly in obvious pain. He grunted as he allowed himself to fall back into the pillows before curling onto his side.

“Brad, what’s--”

“Boss?”

“I’m right here, Tony.”

He whimpered. “Hurts, Boss.”

“Anthony, lie back and try to relax. We’re going to give you something to help. Keep him calm, Jethro. Bradley, I’ll get some cold compresses.”

Ducky and Brad both rushed out of the room leaving just Tony and Gibbs.

“Boss--?”

“I’m right here.”

“I- I think I was on a boat. I remember thinking about it being just like Atlas, but Atlas held up the heavens, didn’t he, Boss?”

Gibbs’ mind raced. The Atlas case was years ago, but was one he’d never forget both for nearly losing Tony and the horrifying facts they uncovered about the fates of all the victims. 

The senior agent struggled to school his features and keep from choking on the rising bile as he reassured his agent, “Yeah, Tony. I think you’re right. Try to relax.” He gratefully watched the two doctors return and initiate treatment.

“Hurts to think, Boss.” Tony leaned into the cool cloth Ducky pressed to his forehead. “That feels good, Ducky.”

Carefully cupping another compress around the back of Tony’s neck, Ducky gently instructed, “No more talking today, dear boy. Rest now.”

Tony nodded obediently as the medicine the doctor injected into his IV worked its way through his bloodstream. He rolled his head to the side to see his Boss watching him with an unreadable expression. As he drifted off, he could hear the groan of metal, the clank of chains, the roar of the ocean and the echo of his unanswered bellows in his mind’s eye.

000

  



	12. Chapter 12

  


 

Gibbs stood out of the way against a wall as the physical therapist ran Tony through his paces in a quiet corner of the gym one final time before he was released from Bethesda. As his medication had been reduced, Gibbs had been heartened by the change in Tony. The first few days, he had been incredibly lethargic from the shock and medications. But, now that his body had stabilized and they had eased back on the medicine, while he was still quite dependent on their assistance and his memory remained out of his reach, Tony was able to function much better than the lead agent had expected. 

Gibbs watched Jimmy Palmer help the therapist position Tony on a large inflatable ball to work on his core balance, offering his hands to Tony to hang onto. The damage to his torso was such that Tony still had to put in a valiant effort to stiffly hold himself upright. Jimmy had only been brought in to meet Tony the day before but his gentle, somewhat gawky manner had quickly won Tony over. Gibbs could see even now Palmer was the one Tony turned to while the therapist coached him through some basic exercises.

“Mister Palmer has quite hit it off with Anthony, I see,” Ducky noted with a pleased smile as he joined the lead agent to lean against the wall.

Gibbs chuffed as he continued to watch them. “He’s doing a good job. I hope DiNozzo takes to the others as easily.”

Once his mental status became clear, Todd and Brad had counseled against overwhelming Tony with excited strangers eager to arouse memories while Ducky had petitioned for his friends to have a chance to see him, arguing that they would be careful to not upset him. In the end, remembering his own bewildering experience while he was suffering from amnesia, Gibbs had allowed them to only see Tony through the observation window outside his room with the promise of having each member of the team come to his house in turn to introduce themselves to him. Abby, especially, had chafed at the thought that Palmer would meet Tony first, but had yielded to the logic even while demanding a visit as soon as he came home.

“I’m sure he’ll do fine,” Ducky asserted. “I heard things didn’t go well with the psychiatrist, however.”

“Damn shrinks…” Gibbs growled. “DiNozzo had his number right away. His memory’s shot, not his mind.”

His curiosity piqued, Ducky had to know. “Brad didn’t go into detail; however, he seemed rather bemused when he suggested I ask you about it. What exactly happened?”

A feral grin lit Gibbs’ features. “After it sunk in that Tony wouldn’t talk about his experiences, mostly because he couldn’t remember the details the doc wanted him to, Doc Adams tried word association.”

“I take it that went about as well?”

“It was the ink blots that finished it. Tony couldn’t understand what the big deal was about a bunch of cards with spilled ink on them.”

Knowing how obtuse Tony could be when he set his mind to it, Ducky could only imagine the confrontation between Tony and his psychiatrist. Even this new, shy, compliant Tony had proven to be a force to be reckoned with when he chose to be. Because of the nature of his injuries, Bethesda required he have a psychiatric consult. The coroner knew, if he was ever able to return to work at NCIS, he would also need a psychiatrist’s clearance.

“I’ll seek out Doctor Adams later to smooth things over. We may need his signature sometime in the near future,” he offered, ducking his head to smile inwardly when Gibbs gave a grudging grunt of thanks. Ducky watched Tony work with the two men, attentively following their instructions as they guided him through the exercises. When Tony glanced over to check on Gibbs once again, Ducky was granted a brilliant smile of recognition from the younger man, returning it in kind as his heart swelled. “You wouldn’t know he’d been through hell and back at times, would you?”

“Never could before, so I suppose it shouldn’t be such a shock now, but, yeah, I know what you’re saying.” Gibbs looked at his watch impatiently. “They said he’d be an hour and then he’d be released.”

“Let’s not rush them,” Ducky chided gently. “Once he’s home, we’ll have all the time in the world.”

Gibbs snorted and pushed himself away from the wall to rock on his toes. When something caught his attention in his peripheral vision, Gibbs glanced over as two young Marines hesitantly approached. Both were obviously patients at Bethesda as one had a large bandage covering a half of his face while the other had his arm in a splint, with a rod running along his upper arm and pins inserted into the skin, which were visible where the sling didn’t cover it.

The young man with the arm injury spoke first, “Excuse me for bothering you, but are you Tony’s boss?” He indicated where Tony was going through his exercises.

Gibbs tilted his head at the young men, realizing who they must be. He had heard one of the Marines being medevaced with Tony had a spiral fracture to the right humerus and another with metal fragments in his eye, both of which required specialized surgery. “Yeah. Gibbs.” 

The young man looked relieved. “I knew you looked like a Gunny. I’m Staff Sergeant Louis and this is Corporal Sweetman.” 

Gibbs offered his hand, clasping each man’s hand firmly. “You’re two of the Marines who were with Tony.”

“Yeah. They told us on the Essex you saw most of what happened by satellite, but you couldn’t have heard what was going on. Tony really saved our skins. That guy was insane; some of the things he said…” The young Marine shook his head in bewilderment. “I can’t imagine half of what that guy threatened. If Tony hadn’t been able to break us out, god only knows where we’d be right now.” Louis eyed the injured agent before turning his full attention back to Gibbs. “Is he getting better, Gunny?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna take some time, but he’ll get there.”

“He was awful close to that explosion. When it happened, we honestly thought he was dead, but he surprised us. Corporal Sweetman and I were in the infirmary on the Essex when they tried to wake him up. He scared the crap out of us the way he wasn’t making any sense and fighting them like you wouldn’t believe. When we saw him come into the gym just now, we wanted to talk with him – to thank him – but the docs told us not to disturb him. When we saw you, we figured you had to be his Gunny, so we could at least thank you.”

“Nothing to thank. We’re just glad you got home safe.”

Corporal Sweetman interjected, “Gunny, you gotta know, as soon as the shells started falling, he knew it was his boss coming to get him. We couldn’t figure out how the Essex could have found us since we were moved so far from the crash site, but he was positive you had to be involved somehow. He told us to just keep moving or his boss was gonna kick our asses. When we asked him, he told us that he wasn’t a Marine, but you’d never know it. If he ever needs anything, please don’t let him forget he’s got five guys on his six.”

Gibbs accepted the sentiment with a proud nod. “He’s got a lot more than that, Corporal. Semper fi.”

They both drew themselves up as much as they were able and nodded briskly at the former Marine. “ _Oorah!_ ”

Smiling, Gibbs watched them walk away with a singular glance back towards Tony. When the therapist gave Tony a pat on the shoulder and helped him stand, Gibbs was quickly at his side.

“Ready to go home?”

His eyes widening in panic, Tony’s face froze while the light in his eyes died; the dark green beginning to fade to a flat grey

“My home. Our home,” Gibbs corrected hastily, watching in relief as Tony tentatively recovered and rewarded him with a warming smile. Gripping his arm tight, Gibbs stressed, “I told ya, you’re never going back there. I meant it.”

With a look of pure relief, Tony hesitantly nodded his understanding as he hobbled over to where Ducky was waiting. Ducky opened his arms and took Tony into a gentle hug before the coroner slipped his hand under Tony’s other elbow and helped guide him towards the exit.

000

As he slowly drove Tony home from the hospital, all bundled up atop a thick layer of foam, Gibbs kept one eye on the road and the other on the man slumbering beside him. After a prolonged physical therapy session, Tony was exhausted by the time they got him situated in a wheelchair and ferried out to Gibbs’ car. Once at the car, Ducky and Gibbs had argued over where Tony should ride while he drooped obliviously in the wheelchair next to them. Eventually, Tony’s tendency to get car sick overrode Ducky’s suggestion he lay across the backseat and the two men, with the assistance of an orderly, struggled to load him and all his padding in the front seat while still allowing Gibbs room to shift gears.

When they reached Gibbs’ house, Ducky pulled in behind them just as Tony’s head groggily came up. He looked at the house curiously and allowed his head to roll around to inquisitively survey the rest of his surroundings. When Tony’s eyes followed Gibbs’ hands as he bent to unbuckle his agent where the buckle had disappeared into the thick foam, a loud rap at the window startled him; he turned and apprehensively drew back for a moment when he saw the coroner’s face filling the side window before recovering with a relieved sigh. 

Popping the door open, Ducky apologized, “I’m so sorry, dear boy. I did not want you to fall out when I opened the door.”

Shrugging with a bashful grin, Tony rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and peered once again out the windshield. “This is your home, Boss?”

“Yup. Our home now. I want you to make yourself comfortable. I suppose it’s a lot smaller than you’re used to, DiNozzo…”

“Looks like a good place to raise a family, Boss. Just like in the movies.”

Gibbs and Ducky exchanged a long searching look across Tony as he stared out the window, unaware of the awkward silence as he memorized the two story restored Craftsman. Sorting him out of all the protective wraps, they helped him hoist himself upright, out of the car, up the front steps and into the house.

Stepping into the foyer, Tony rested a hand on Ducky’s shoulder to ground himself as he looked everywhere at once. The downstairs was open, airy, with the large windows allowing the sun to flood the rooms, making the polished woodwork glisten in warm golds and browns. Gibbs stepped around Tony slightly to guardedly watch his reactions as he tracked Tony’s movements. He watched as Tony closed his eyes while he took several deep breaths, bowing his head and stifling a cough before peering around the room again with a tentative smile.

“Come on in,” Gibbs encouraged. “Check it out. Touch anything you want.”

With a glance for reassurance from Gibbs, Tony stepped further into the house, allowing his hand to drift over a shelf of knick-knacks, ghosting along a countertop then wandering into the comfortably appointed den. Spying the wide screen TV set up in the corner, Tony’s eyes lit up and he flashed a quick grin at Gibbs before his attention was drawn to photos on the mantel. One of the pictures was of him with some of the people he vaguely remembered from the observation window.

As he held the picture in his hand, Tony looked at the man at his elbow in puzzlement. “I know them, Boss?”

“You’ll meet them again,” Gibbs confidently assured him.

Replacing the photo reverently, Tony took another deep breath, inhaling the strong, comforting scent of sawdust and coffee, which reminded him so much of his Boss, overlaid with a touch of lemon, before facing Gibbs.

“Whaddaya think?”

“I think this is what home feels like, Boss.”

The corner of Gibbs’ lips curled as he nodded Tony over to the couch. “Sit down before you fall down. I’ll put a movie in for ya.”

Once Tony was settled lengthwise on the couch, Gibbs loaded a DVD then, after scrutinizing it thoroughly, stabbed at the remote repeatedly without success and no small amount of cursing until Ducky calmly took it from his hands and handed it to Tony with a contemplative look.

“I believe you should do this before Jethro breaks it.”

Shifting to accept the foreign object, Tony uncertainly rolled the remote around in his hand. “But, I don’t know—“

“Anthony, don’t think; let your fingers do what they want,” the doctor instructed him. “I can assure you, you do.”

With a doubtful frown, Tony flipped the remote right side up and, once Gibbs moved out of his way, extended his arm and tipped his wrist while his fingers sought out the proper buttons in rapid succession. Ducky grinned proudly in response to Gibbs’ raised eyebrows.

“How did I…” Tony began as the plasma came to life and the FBI warning came up the screen.

“In very basic terms: muscle memory,” Ducky provided. He turned to Gibbs. “I can well imagine he would be able to drive a stick shift or load and shoot a gun just as easily.”

As Tony weakly struggled up onto one elbow to look incredulously at both men, Gibbs warned, “Just don’t plan on doing either any time soon.”

000

Rising from his recliner, Gibbs set his book down with a sigh. Ducky had forbidden any work on the boat until further notice for fear the sawdust would complicate Tony’s recovering skin and lungs, so the basement was off limits for the time being. He made rounds of the house, checking the locks on all the windows and doors. Gibbs had sent McGee out to make keys and given everyone in the team plus Fornell and Brad Pitt one since he now had a reason to lock the house up tight.

Once Ducky had left after dinner, Gibbs and Tony had simply relaxed, with Tony carefully draped across the couch with a movie from the selection Abby had brought over and Gibbs with a biography he had picked up at the gift shop at Bethesda. After the movie, Gibbs had helped Tony to the guest bedroom, coached him through his nebulizer treatment, given him his pills and all but tucked him into bed. Tony had been hesitant but compliant with everything, not yet showing the fire Gibbs yearned to see.

Gibbs peeked into the guest bedroom to find Tony sound asleep. He knew by now the drugs would have kicked in but was still gratified to finally see his senior field agent placidly sleeping safely in his home, snuggled under the covers with the fan luffing his hair back from his face. Leaving the bedroom door open, Gibbs then went to the main bathroom, prepared it for any nocturnal visits and turned on the nightlight he had installed, leaving that door ajar as well. He filled a cup and delivered it to Tony’s bedside, pausing to check the oxygen cannula before retiring to his own room.

After only six days, he was still hesitant to leave Tony out of his sight for any length of time and had to fight with himself to sleep in his own bed rather than curl up on the rocking chair in the guest room, but, now that he had him home, he wanted to establish some semblance of normalcy to Tony’s life as soon as possible. He knew, with the situation they now found themselves in, recovery could be a long haul.

Listening for any disturbances, Gibbs crawled into bed and lay thinking as the stars came out. It wasn’t often he allowed himself to simply lie in bed and allow his thoughts to drift; his mind had been racing for so long, yet, now that evening had fallen, he found himself readily easing into a sound yet troubled sleep.

Jethro tossed restlessly. He desperately tried to rescue Tony yet his agent remained just out of his reach no matter what he did. The quicksand drew him relentlessly towards his own suffocating death while the young man begged his boss to save him. Gibbs kicked out, trying to swim to safety, trying to reach his man before anything horrible happened to him. The sand continued to fall inexorably through the hourglass. As he fell through the narrow opening, Gibbs’ legs were pinned together, unable to do more than knead in place against the unyielding pull of gravity. 

Gibbs awoke with a shout, kicking instinctively with a roar at whatever was pinning his legs to the bed, sending it tumbling to the floor in a tangle of long limbs and blankets. His mind cleared in a rush as he saw a foot flail in the air before disappearing beyond the foot of the bed with a terrified yelp. The sound of panicked scrabbling could be heard on the wooden floor.

“Tony?”

“Please, Master, nooo,” his man pleaded as he knelt, naked save his bandages and trembling violently, his forehead pressed to the floor in supplication.

Gibbs slowly crawled off the bed to kneel next to Tony. When he reached to touch him, Tony bolted, mindlessly crashing into a corner of the room then crouching there with both hands over his head as he curled his body as tight to the wall as he was able. Gibbs helplessly watched Tony hyperventilate uncontrollably, his ribs showing in stark detail as he gasped for breath.

Softly, Gibbs murmured, “Hey.” Approaching him as if he were a spooked wild animal, he squatted down without touching the hysterical man, trying to get as close as possible without escalating Tony’s panic. “I’m not your master, Tony. I’m your boss. Remember?”

Tony’s hair ruffled through his fingers as he shook his head against Gibbs reassurances. “No,” he bleakly gasped. “Can’t be… Can’t find me here…” He started to rock, slamming his injured back repeatedly against the wall.

“Tony, stop it!” Gibbs barked more forcefully than he intended, freezing his agent in terror. He grasped both biceps and gave Tony a gentle shake. “Look at me. Come on! Look at me! I’m your boss. You’re safe now.”

“No. no. no… Not gettin’… outta it… this time…” He squeezed his eyes shut as he swayed in Gibbs’ firm grip.

Faced with no other options, Gibbs lightly tapped him on the head, watching for the telltale signs of recognition. When Tony blinked his eyes open to steal a glance out the corner of them through the thick lashes, the older man ducked his head to meet his gaze with an encouraging smile.

“See? It’s me, Gibbs, your boss. Okay?” He scooted around to better face his agent, noticing with some relief that he had relaxed minutely.

Still struggling with his breathing, Tony nodded mutely. He hugged his knees to his chest as he slumped against the wall, gasping for breath. Tony flinched when Gibbs delicately brushed his hair out of the way to better look at him. Without breaking contact, his boss paused and slid his hands down to gather him up into his arms where he knelt on the floor. Before pulling him into his comforting embrace, their eyes locked. Tony’s eyes flashed open briefly, giving Gibbs a glimpse of the desperate trust he held before averting his eyes and yielding to the older man, burying his head in the curve of Gibbs neck.

They stayed locked in an embrace on the floor until Gibbs’ knees began to cramp. Tony had calmed under the enveloping spell of reassurance. When Gibbs awkwardly clambered to his feet with a soft grunt, he tenderly guided his second to the edge of the bed. Tony started to crawl towards the foot of the bed but was stopped by Gibbs’ hand on his elbow, drawing him lengthwise on one side of the bed. Bowing his head dutifully, Tony shakily crept onto the bed, grasped the rails in the headboard, tucked his knees under his chest with his feet wide apart and then steeled himself in anticipation. 

Watching the display with rising horror, Gibbs stepped back a minute to take stock of the situation while Tony silently waited, quaking in position. Gibbs saw in dismay that the scabs on the unbandaged welts across the seam between Tony’s upper thighs and buttocks had opened and started seeping serous fluid; some of the other stitches also showed signs of stress under the thin protective membrane the doctor had applied over a few of the lower injuries which didn’t lend themselves to traditional bandaging.

“I’m not asking that of you, Tony,” Gibbs thickly choked out. “I just want you to lie on your side, so you’re comfortable. Now, let me help you get into bed.”

As he released the headboard, Tony’s despair was palpable. “Sssorrry, Boss.” Tony turned his head away, so he wouldn’t have to face him.

When Gibbs rested his hand on his waist, Tony flinched then yielded to the gentle guidance. Gibbs could feel Tony’s fight to control his urge to pull away as he lifted the sheet out of the way then eased him onto his side. 

Gibbs frowned at the lack of clothing. It had been a struggle to get the t-shirt on Tony with his limited range of motion, so how he managed to get it off by himself was a mystery. Even though he knew Tony preferred sleeping in the nude, Gibbs couldn’t help but wonder if his being naked had more to do with his captivity than his usual sleeping habits. From what he had seen, Tony’s simple wardrobe was only used when he was off Bouvier’s property, otherwise he was kept totally nude. Puzzling it over in his mind, Gibbs filed the question away for later rather than upset his man further now.

Keeping one hand on Tony, Gibbs reached over to flip on the light on the nightstand. He especially needed to check on the central line in his chest that Brad had inserted for Tony’s daily IV antibiotic regimen and make sure it was still firmly taped in place. Tony’s nipple rings glittered in the soft light; the dark green gem at his navel, which matched the smaller ones in his collar, taunted Gibbs with a tangible reminder of Bouvier’s continued hold on some part of Tony’s psyche. Gibbs’ eyes wandered to the thicker ring lower down as he remembered when the doctor informed him they could not be immediately removed while they were busy treating Tony’s injuries because Bouvier had the ends permanently soldered together, so they would have to be carefully cut off when there was time. The cuffs on Tony’s wrists and ankles had been under the soft restraints, so they too had been left on. As for the collar, for the first few days, Tony had fought viciously when they so much as tried to touch it, so, since it didn’t interfere with the thin line of sutures paralleling it, they chose to leave it alone for the time being, rather than upset his delicate emotional balance. 

Squinting as his eyes adjusted to the light, Gibbs took a fleeting moment to actually look at the adornments for the first time. He had seen the clinical, two dimensional photos which had been taken to catalog the abuse as part of the investigation but, in all the time he was present for bandage changes and treatments, Gibbs found looking at them in person caused an especially uncomfortable stirring of primal rage which took every ounce of his willpower to quell, so he had avoided anything more than the briefest of glances for fear of allowing that fury to show. When he felt an involuntary shiver under his hands, Gibbs shook himself from his reverie to find Tony watching him warily. Lightly massaging Tony’s quivering shoulder, he resolved to try to remove all the gold and jewels as soon as possible now that they were home.

Getting back to task, Gibbs grabbed a spare pillow, tucking it firmly against his agent’s chest with a comforting word before drawing the sheet up over him. Retrieving the blanket from the floor, he then fluffed it over Tony before dashing to the spare room to grab the oxygen rig.

When Gibbs returned to his room, Tony hadn’t moved from where he had left him except for drawing his knees up and hugging the pillow tightly. Not for the first time, Gibbs found himself amazed at how small the taller man could make himself as he looked at the proportionately tiny ball under the covers with only a tousled head sticking partially out. Tony visibly tensed when Gibbs clattered into the bedroom with the oxygen tank in tow but didn’t resist when the lead agent gently positioned and turned on the cannula. Dropping Tony’s discarded shorts and t-shirt on the floor to deal with in the morning, Gibbs’ brow furrowed in consternation when he noticed the heat radiating off Tony’s skin, making note to mention it to Ducky when he arrived the next day. 

Tony’s eyes followed his superior as he walked around the bed to climb in the other side. Pulling the blankets up to cover them both, Gibbs watched his second for a moment, lost in thought. Tony seemed to be waiting for something as he stared at Gibbs, his eyes barely blinking, almost like he used to while he was waiting for the next order - that long, watchful look Gibbs knew he could trust to act the moment he needed it.

“You okay, DiNozzo?”

Tony swallowed nervously. “I don’t know why you want me, Boss.”

“Why wouldn’t I want you?”

“’m broken, Boss.”

“You’re not broken,” Gibbs firmly stated.

Faced with Gibbs’ absolute conviction, Tony turned away to mutter, “Can’t even please you.”

“Ya know how you can please me?”

Hopeful eyes mutely met his.

“Put all your energy into getting better.” As Tony blinked at him in bewilderment, Gibbs calmly ordered, “Go to sleep, Tony.” He was gratified to see his agent immediately relax, seemingly relieved to know what was expected of him. Reaching up to shut off the light, Gibbs interlaced his fingers then lifted his hands behind his head on the pillow. He lay thinking about everything and nothing until late into the night while he listened to the harsh, guttural breathing beside him even out into the pattern of sleep.

000

  



	13. Chapter 13

  


Gibbs awoke to a heavy pressure on his chest. He instinctively began to shift away from the unexpectedness of it until he registered the warm, muscular body draped over him, clutching the front of his t-shirt tightly. The rumbling breaths on his chest quickened, the hand pulled at his shirt with a whimper as the body snuggled tight against him. Remembering the night before as awareness filtered in around him, the former Marine caught himself and gently tightened his grasp, noticing Tony’s respirations slowing into a more settled cadence as he snuffled contentedly into his shirt. Feeling the soft wheeze in Tony’s chest, Gibbs delicately brushed the shaggy hair out of the way so he could see his face.

The cannula was still in position but had fallen askew sometime over the night. Gibbs caught the errant tube with a fingertip and carefully looped it back behind the shell of an ear. He watched his agent sleep, relieved to finally see him so peaceful despite the somewhat surreal situation. The long eyelashes brushed the slightly flushed cheeks. Resting his hand momentarily on Tony’s forehead, the older man was pleased to feel the skin had cooled somewhat over the night. He glanced to the clock; Ducky wasn’t due for well over an hour, so he settled down to wait. Very carefully, so as not to wake him, he slipped Tony’s knee off his bladder to a different position, sighing in relief at the respite when Tony slipped more onto his side before scooting close once more. 

Absently stroking the unmarred skin between Tony’s shoulder blades, Gibbs watched the sunlight slowly creep into the room. As his thoughts drifted, he sleepily realized, even with the late night interruption, he hadn’t slept this deeply in over seven months. With that at the back of his mind, he allowed himself to doze lightly, knowing it would likely be another long day.

Gibbs awoke with a start at the rap on his bedroom door, looking up in time to see the medical examiner peek around and absorb the tableau before him.

“Jethro? Oh, my... There he is! I was concerned when I didn’t find him in bed.” Ducky quietly crept in to peer sideways at his slumbering patient. “How did it go last night?”

“He’s in my bed – how do you think it went?” Gibbs asked without any heat. At the coroner’s quizzical look, he added, “We had a little issue late last night…”

“It looks like you got it sorted out,” Ducky observed with a fond smile as Tony’s eyes fluttered with a soft moan. His voice softened even more. “Good morning, Anthony. Did you sleep well?”

Tony’s head groggily bobbed around while he got his bearings. He pushed up off Gibbs slightly as his eyes came into focus. Seeing where he was, he rocked backwards in alarm, his eyes widening when he found himself caught between the two men.

“Hey!” His Boss’ hand firmly grasped his wrist as another hand rested lightly on his shoulder. “DiNozzo, relax. It’s okay. You hear me?”

At Gibbs’ touch, Tony froze in place. With a quick glance through lowered lashes, he nodded. Sensing the continued scrutiny, he licked his lips nervously before answering, “Gotcha, Boss.” Another furtive peek to ensure he’d satisfied his boss gave him a glimpse of the flash of affection crossing Gibbs’ face before he relaxed his hold on Tony with a slight smile.

“Good. Ducky needs to check you over and change your bandages before breakfast. You need to hit the head first?”

“I’m fine, Boss.”

“I’ll be the judge of that, dear boy.” Ducky chuckled as he busied himself drawing the covers out of the way and sorting through his bag. “Sit up now and let me get your temperature. I’d like to do the basics before you move around too much.” Once Tony gingerly eased himself into a sitting position with both the men’s help, the doctor popped a thermometer into his mouth then busied himself taking his blood pressure while he waited for it to beep. “Ah, still have a low grade fever, I see… And your blood pressure is still a bit low.” Not pausing in his examination, Ducky spared a reassuring glance for Gibbs when he saw the lead agent stiffen. “Pulse is nice and strong. Anthony, let me listen to your chest. Deep breaths. In. Out. Good. Again. In. Out. Very good.” 

Ducky leaned back to seek Tony’s eyes with a gentle smile before continuing, “All right then, I’ll need you to lie on your stomach, so I can get a good look at your back now, then we’ll change the rest of your bandages and I’ll help you wash up and get dressed.” When Tony shifted onto his stomach, the doctor noticed in surprise that he wasn’t wearing anything. A quick glance between the clothing tossed onto the floor and Gibbs caused the doctor to narrow his eyes in confusion. Ducky nodded when Gibbs tipped his head towards Tony – he would explain it later.

Looking at the angry expanse of discharge seeping through the protective bandages for the first time, Ducky drew his breath through his teeth. “What happened to you?”

“Fell outta bed, Duck,” Gibbs supplied.

The medical examiner’s eyes flashed censure across the prone body towards the senior agent, sending the unwavering message his carefully modulated voice couldn’t in Tony’s presence. “I’ve only been gone twelve hours…” 

As Gibbs raised an eyebrow and tilted his head unrepentantly, the older man changed the subject until a later time when they had some privacy. There was apparently much to discuss.

Rolling up his sleeves, Ducky suggested, “Jethro, why don’t you get breakfast started and we’ll be right down as soon as we’re done? What time are you expecting Abigail?”

“About 11:30 unless she gets called in.”

“Excellent. We’ll be down shortly.”

Having a sense he’d just been dismissed, Gibbs quickly got dressed and trotted downstairs to begin his day.

000

As soon as Jethro left the room, Ducky delicately removed the bandages one at a time, checking each wound carefully before moving on to the next. Once that was done, Ducky carefully taped a small piece of plastic over the central line in his chest. As soon as Tony was ready for a quick bath, Ducky helped him into the bathroom and then into the tub with strict instructions to not get his back wet. Climbing into the tub, Tony quickly knelt facing the faucet, his body ramrod straight from his shoulders to his knees, his legs braced on either side, his head bowed, and waited. Ducky rocked backwards, taken aback by the obviously ingrained behavior. Clucking gently to himself, the doctor took the hand shower and carefully washed Tony’s hair, shoulders and arms, confident he would be unable to reach those for the time being.

He then lathered and shaved Tony’s face, carefully skimming over the healing abrasions and being especially mindful of the thin suture line on his throat while making a conscious effort to avoid any hint of contact with the gold collar before gently daubing Tony’s face with a wash cloth. Giving the handset to Tony, Ducky watched as he sat there, loosely holding it and looking lost while the water sprayed against the tiles.

“Anthony, you may wash your torso and legs,” Ducky instructed gently. “Just be careful with any wounds.”

The hand holding the shower head tightened but did not move.

“Anthony? Would you like me to take care of that for you?” At the urgent nod, Ducky eased the hand piece from Tony’s unresisting hand and efficiently finished bathing him then proceeded to towel him dry. 

As he complacently stood before him, Ducky couldn’t help but muse how Tony reminded him of a days old colt: all big eyes, long limbs, knobby knees and flight instinct. He knew Tony required much the same approach as well – slow, open movements; careful, gentle handling; and constant vocal prompts. Considering the muscles Tony had built up during his captivity, Ducky knew if Tony ever switched to fight mode, even Jethro would have his hands full in a no holds barred battle with his agent despite Tony’s injuries. 

Guiding Tony back into the bedroom, Ducky coached him onto the bed on his stomach so he could begin the process of rebandaging him, beginning with the most severe injuries. Opening a jar of salve, a fragrant aroma filled the room. Sniffing delicately, Tony curiously peeked over his shoulder.

Ducky chuckled. “It smells wonderful, doesn’t it?” After first applying some to each deeply abraded wrist, he deftly smoothed the salve onto Tony’s back, mindfully following the direction of the welts for the time being. “It’s a recipe I picked up while working along the Sepik River in Papua, New Guinea. The tribesmen there practice scarification to a fascinating degree. However, despite this practice, their skin is amazingly smooth and supple.” Ducky noticed with satisfaction how Tony was loosening under his hands as he massaged the healing salve deep into his tissues. “They gave me their recipe after I hiked five miles through the jungle in a monsoon to assist in the rather difficult delivery of one of their prized pigs!” He dipped his head to smile at Tony when he mutely turned his head in disbelief at the story. “It’s all quite true, you know… I was able to find many of the ingredients locally, however one ingredient eluded me until I was able to contact a friend who works for the Botanical Gardens. How does your back feel?”

“Better, Ducky,” Tony admitted. “But, smelly.”

“Yes, well everything comes with its costs,” Ducky agreed sagely with his tongue firmly in cheek. “It could be worse, my dear boy.”

“How’s that, Ducky?”

“The recipe could include the sap of a stinkweed pod!” Ducky grinned to himself as he continued to apply the salve in sweeping strokes of his hands, feeling the smooth muscles for any signs of irritation or soreness.

Tony contentedly lolled under the attention. The warm, clean sensation of the bath followed by the gentle massage and even gentler words had loosened him up to the point that he rapidly found himself drifting asleep. When he awakened a short while later, Tony found himself propped on his side with the IV hooked up and Ducky, sitting in a rocking chair, patiently reading a book with one eye on his progress.

Gibbs appeared in the doorway, stilling Tony with a subtle hand signal when he began to get his hands under him. Tony relaxed back into the bed, in many ways relieved he could lie unperturbed.

“We’ll be done in about five minutes,” Ducky informed both men as he accepted the cup of tea Gibbs offered and took an appreciative sip.

“Tony, hungry?” Gibbs asked hopefully. “French toast sound good?”

“Maybe a little,” Tony admitted. His eyes twinkled as he commented, “Is it decaf, Boss? Ducky said I can’t have any caffeine.”

“No, you’re thinking French roast.”

“I know what French toast is, Boss. I haven’t forgotten everything… I just figured if you’re making it, there must be some coffee involved.”

Ducky chuckled as Gibbs shot Tony an amused look of mock outrage even while his heart sang at the simple, yet very Tony, joke.

000

  



	14. Chapter 14

  


By the time Abby appeared, Tony had nibbled two small meals, finished his morning nebulizer treatment, and, according to Gibbs, taken more pills than a junkie locked in a drug store. As Abby came into the house, vibrating slightly from excitement and a few extra Caf-Pow!s she had slurped down for strength, she found Tony curled on the couch in the den, fast asleep with a fleece Marine Corps blanket tucked around him. Gibbs and Ducky rose to greet her from where they each had settled, companionably swapping newspaper sections back and forth while they waited. As she hugged both men tight, Abby’s eyes longingly remained on the sun-bleached hair on the pillow. Ducky and Gibbs quietly steered her into the room, anxious to see how the reunion would go.

“My god, Gibbs, it’s hard to believe it’s him,” she whispered reverently. “He looks so young… Is he… I mean… He isn’t in any pain, is he?”

“We’re treating it as best we can with his metabolism. I must admit, he appears to be moving better today,” Ducky conceded. He arched an eyebrow at Gibbs and quirked a corner of his lip. “Despite what happened last night.”

Gibbs rolled his eyes at the doctor.

Abby followed the interplay before looking accusingly up at Gibbs. “Gibbs, you aren’t already slapping him, are you?”

“Just when he needs it, Abs.”

“Gibbs! He’s got brain damage!”

“No more than he always did…”

“Actually, Abigail, aside from still being mildly concussed, his brain appears to be fine,” Ducky explained. “Come. Sit.”

Ducky gave Abby’s arm a gentle tug, drawing her sideways towards a chair as her eyes remained on Tony. She followed the older man compliantly then shook him off to slide onto the coffee table across from Tony instead. After a swift glance over her shoulder at Gibbs for permission, Abby tentatively reached out to stroke Tony’s arm where it curled around the blanket. She snatched her hand away when Tony shifted, coughing once and then again before settling with a reedy sigh. Her mind awhirl with emotions, Abby avidly watched her friend sleep. When it appeared Tony would not be waking soon, Gibbs and Ducky had returned to their paper, the occasional rustle behind her punctuating the peaceful silence. 

From her perch, Abby studiously catalogued the few injuries she could see. Jimmy and Ducky had explained everything to her satisfaction, so she had a good idea of what to expect and she had visited through the window the few minutes each day Gibbs allowed while Tony was at Bethesda, but this was the first time she had seen him up close and personal. His face reminded Abby of Gibbs’ face shortly after the explosion when he had left her for Mexico. Quelling the panic that thought brought, she tried to push the memory of that terrible time away, working on focusing on positive thoughts instead.

When Tony tugged at the blanket, the crisp white gauze which flashed at her from his wrists reminded her of the sobering injuries she couldn’t see. The occasional hitches in his breathing alarmed Abby horribly, bringing visions of blue lights and gilded envelopes, yet neither Ducky nor Gibbs reacted to them, so she gamely pressed her lips together and furrowed her brows to wait Tony out.

A plate thrust into her vision a short while later startled her. Abby looked up into intense blue eyes which conveyed so much with a simple look: support, understanding, indulgence, invitation. Accepting the offered lunch, Abby thoughtfully chewed her sandwich, grinning up at Gibbs when he gave her a quick peck on the top of the head as he placed a cup beside her before he rejoined Ducky in the kitchen.

His nostrils flaring at the unexpected smell of gunpowder interspersed with mustard, Tony shakily raised his head. His eyelashes fluttered. Tony’s eyes locked onto the plate in front of him then followed the gauntleted wrists up black and red striped sleeves, past the shiny leather collar to the blood red lips smiling expectantly at him. Tony shied away then quickly recovered when he realized the perfect teeth were not pointed, the pale green eyes radiated compassion. Slowly gathering his hands under him, he warily eased himself upright with his eyes constantly on his new visitor.

“Tony, this is Abby. Remember, I told you about her this morning?” Ducky introduced from over his shoulder.

Tony looked down and away as he nodded. Sneaking a quick peek at the Goth sitting a mere foot away, he rasped, “Hi, Abby.”

Balling her hands in her lap to keep from throwing them around Tony’s neck like she wanted to, Abby timorously replied, “Hi!” Feeling horribly inadequate, she bit her lip and crossed her feet as she watched him closely.

Gibbs rescued her as the minutes ticked away. Dangling a cup next to Tony, he asked, “Tony, what do you want for lunch?”

Accepting the nutrition shake, Tony self-consciously rolled it back and forth in his hands as the straw spiraled along the edge. “Not really hungry, Boss.”

“Ya gotta eat something… How about some soup? Applesauce? Maybe some macaroni and cheese? Ice cream? Mashed potatoes? Fruit cup?”

“Peaches, Boss?”

Gibbs relaxed in relief. “Yeah, we still got some peaches. Lemme get them. Anything else for you, Abs?”

“I’m good, Bossman. Thanks for lunch!” Abby passed her empty plate back to Gibbs before resuming her awkward scrutiny of Tony.

Gibbs sorted through the pantry for the requested fruit, emerging with a can a few minutes later. While he opened the can and got a bowl down, Ducky followed him to a quiet spot in the kitchen.

“Give them time, Jethro. They’ll come around.”

Nodding at Ducky, Gibbs eyes strayed once again across the counter into the living room to watch the two best friends shyly regarding each other silently. He found it strangely disconcerting how two of the most talkative people he knew could be so quiet in each others’ presence.

Abby chewed on her lower lip and looked through her lashes at Tony. Tony, for his part, repeatedly glanced over his shoulder seeking Gibbs before bashfully returning his gaze to the floor. Occasionally, he’d steal a look at the Goth, his green eyes shielded by the shaggy fringe of hair which constantly fell in his face in a silken, deep golden curtain.

“Gibbs says you don’t remember us,” Abby spoke quietly, wincing at the startled expression as Tony’s head snapped up to face her.

His eyes flicked around then looked away. He shook his head tentatively. She waited patiently as he seemed to gather himself while sneaking sideways peeks at her.

“You’re Boss’ girl?” he asked softly. This time, when he glanced at his Boss, he received an encouraging nod. Relaxing a bit, Tony met Abby’s eyes.

“Yeah. I’ve been Gibbs’ lab rat for a long time,” Abby answered readily, happy to have such an easy question. She struggled to contain herself. Seeing Tony after not knowing if he were dead or alive for so long coupled with admittedly too many Caf-Pows! and her natural tendency to bounce through life made it a real battle but she desperately wanted to help her Tony 

He pointed to his neck. “Your collar is beautiful – the icons, they match your eyes.”

“Thanks! A very special friend gave it to me.” Abby’s eyes danced as she fondly fingered her collar, much to Tony’s obvious distress. Her brow furrowed in confusion.

Tony looked taken aback. “Boss didn’t give it to you?”

“Oh, no! I’m Goth. I like to wear collars. Yours is exquisite. It’s a very intricate weave and the peridots look gem quality. May I look at it a little closer?”

He ducked his head while he considered her question. Boss had told him to speak with her but his Master had been excruciatingly clear about certain rules. Tony wasn’t likely to forget those lessons any time soon.

When she reached to touch the golden links, Tony shied away, wincing when his back protested angrily. The flash of pain in his eyes when he turned away alarmed Abby.

“I’m sorry!” she gasped.

“It’s ok,” he reassured her. “My Master doesn’t allow anyone to touch it without his permission.”

“Even you?”

“Especially me,” he admitted softly.

“I bet Gibbs would let you touch it if you wanted.”

His gaze again darted to his Boss. “I… uh… My Master would be very angry.”

“But, you don’t answer to your Master anymore; Gibbs is in charge now.”

Tony shook his head vehemently. “No. I… I can’t.”

“You okay, Tony?” Gibbs asked from where he stood at the corner of the couch with Tony’s lunch in his hands.

His deeply ingrained dread of punishment overriding everything else, Tony ducked away from Gibbs. Hunching over, he crossed his arms across his chest protectively. “’m fine, Boss,” he lied under his breath.

“Abs, scoot over.” Setting the bowl and spoon down, Gibbs rested his hand on Tony’s knee. “DiNozzo, look at me.” He waited patiently as Tony struggled to comply. When it was obvious he couldn’t, Gibbs ordered firmly, “Tony, I need you to look at me right now.”

Knowing Gibbs knew he had lied to him, Tony whimpered as he struggled against himself. Quivering visibly, for every inch he turned towards Gibbs he’d then turn two more away. Before long, his fear had become a palpable force in the room. Wiping away a tear, Abby watched his heartbreaking terror sympathetically, only held back by Gibbs’ hand on her arm as he knelt next to Tony where he had ended up curled against the arm of the couch. 

Lightly grasping Tony’s chin, Gibbs forced him to meet his eyes momentarily as he stressed matter-of-factly, “I’m not mad at you, DiNozzo. I just need you to look at me.” He frowned at the wild panic which faced him. Looking over his shoulder at Abby with a question in his eyes, Gibbs’ expression darkened when she gestured towards her collar. Turning back to Tony, Gibbs growled, “It’s been on long enough. It’s time to take that damn collar off!”

“NO, BOSS!!! Please, no!” Tony begged. He looked beseechingly at Gibbs as he drew his legs up to his chest and hugged them tight.

Gibbs blinked in confusion. “What?!”

“Please, don’t take it off! Please, Boss?!”

“But… You want it on?”

Mutely, Tony nodded vigorously.

“How about the cuffs and….the rest of it?”

He nodded again as he asked huskily, “Please, Boss? I’ll be good. I promise!”

Gibbs exchanged a long look with Abby and Ducky, where he had also stationed himself between Abby and Tony. Both met his lost expression with devastated looks of their own.

“You remember what I told you – you’re ours now. You’re never going back, right?”

First meeting his Boss’ eyes, Tony’s gaze shyly wandered from one compassionate gaze to another, seeing the truth in his Boss’ words radiating from each of them. Dropping his head to studiously fiddle with the seam of the blanket, he dipped his head in understanding while a soft, “Please, Boss?” drifted out. 

“Okay, but why?” Gibbs had to know.

Looking up, Tony sought the right words. “I… it’s… just… It’s safer…”

“Safer?”

Tony’s head flopped back on the couch in frustration. “I… Yeah.”

With sudden inspiration, Abby reached out to clasp his hand. She waited until the fingers relaxed to gently settle in her grasp and he met her eyes, before asking, “Would it be okay if we made your collar Gibbs’ collar? Since your Master isn’t coming back, he’s your Boss now, right?”

Looking slightly taken aback, Tony considered her question thoughtfully. “You could do that?”

Abby grinned encouragingly at him. “Well, it’s either that or he collars you with one he whittled in the backyard!”

A ghost of a smile graced Tony’s lips at the absurd thought. Bashfully, he nodded acquiescence. Abby bounced in place as she considered the possibilities, causing Ducky to rest a hand on her shoulder to settle her down before she panicked Tony while Gibbs shot her an unreadable look.

“Okay, but first new rules! Bossman, you need to give Tony all the rules he has to follow.” She smirked and nodded her head definitively in Gibbs’ direction.

In reply, Gibbs’ eyes widened at the change of subject and what exactly he was being asked to do. He and Abby had touched on it while Tony was at Bethesda but he’d never expected to be asked to make a definitive list. One list of rules in a lifetime seemed sufficient to him and he had hoped Tony would have regained his memory by now. Looking over at Tony, Gibbs was startled to find his second looking at him expectantly with bright eyes.

“What he is allowed to do, to touch…” Ducky prompted with a wicked grin of his own at Gibbs’ discomfiture.

Going along with them for the meantime, Gibbs’ lips twitched as he considered Tony seriously. “From now on…” He couldn’t help but notice Tony lean forward to listen raptly. “You can touch anything you want, that includes your body, your collar—“

“Gibbs’ collar,” Abby corrected with a knowing glance at the senior agent.

Gibbs sighed. “My collar.” He stole a look at Abby for approval. “Ah… and anything else you might be wearing. You’re to keep eating like we’ve already discussed and you already know you don’t have to end each sentence with someone’s name—”

As Tony gravely nodded his accord, Ducky added in Gibbs’ ear, “Bathing.”

Gibbs forged ahead, “You can bathe yourself and, if you want anything, you’re to immediately ask me or someone you know, for whatever reason -- if you’re not sure or need help. Otherwise, at least in this house, you’re to help yourself to anything you want. You can go in any room in this house without permission, except the basement, which is off limits until Ducky says otherwise. If you want to go anywhere beyond the backyard, I need you to let me know first.”

“How about his health?”

Gibbs raised an eyebrow at the coroner, then nodded in complete agreement. “And, you are not to lie about any health condition. ‘I’m fine’ doesn’t cut it unless you really are. If there’s no rule about something or you want clarification, you’re to ask at any time. How does that work for you?”

Tony nodded excitedly. He’d been worried the rules would be as difficult to honor as his Master’s had been. His Master’s standards had been set to such an unrealistic level; it seemed a day hadn’t gone by that he didn’t receive at least some sort of punishment for a transgression.

“Good!” Gibbs gave Tony a reassuring pat on the knee. Reaching for the bowl next to him, he added, “Here’s your lunch. Why don’t you dig right in?” Looking to Abby, he warily asked, “So, what sort of ideas do you have for his—“ Off the stern look, “my collar?”

Instead of an answer, with a wide grin and an unexpected but surprisingly well-received peck on Tony’s cheek, Abby scooped up her bag lying on the table next to her and hopped up, heading for the door. “I have a few ideas I think you’ll really like -- I just need to get some stuff and we can work on it. I’ll be back in about two hours.”

Sitting down in the spot Abby had just vacated, Ducky clucked paternally. “You understand the new rules, Anthony?”

His fingertips lightly resting on his cheek, Tony spun his head around from where he was wistfully watching Abby clomp out the door. “Yes, Ducky. Thank you.”

“We all only want what’s best for you, my boy. Now eat up. Abigail is bound to be back sooner than later and you’ll need your strength!”

Tony grinned as he dug into his bowl of sliced peaches.

True to Ducky’s word, Abby was back before Tony had managed to finish his food. He had slowed down after the first few bites but had gamely tried to finish the bowl, since he knew it meant a lot to everyone that he ate. Abby burst through the door excitedly with a small bag full of possibilities in her hand. 

Before she made any changes, with Tony’s cooperation, Abby closely examined his collar and cuffs, taking several pictures with her phone to share with her gemologist friend, Benjamin. She excitedly noted the purity of the gold and how the malleable metal was reinforced by the intricate weave which was somewhat reminiscent of woven chainmail, allowing the thick collar to be both flexible and strong. The moss green peridots decorating the collar held her attention as well as she took several pictures to confirm their rare quality before closely scrutinizing the unusual clasp at the back of Tony’s neck which required the use of a special tool to open. All Abby knew was that she was glad she had come up with this solution before Gibbs used his own ‘special tool’; if Tony needed the emotional security of the collar, she was sure it would have been unusable once Gibbs was done with it.

After a protracted discussion between the four of them of what would and would not be acceptable, Abby added a few minor embellishments to the collar topped off by a tiny gold tag she affixed to a ring at the front of Tony’s neck with TONY engraved on one side and GIBBS on the other, much to Gibbs’ eternal embarrassment. For his part, Tony couldn’t stop touching his collar while Abby worked on it, earning more than one playful slap on the wrist. 

Once they were done, Tony disappeared for several minutes into the bathroom to admire it in the mirror. When he emerged, Tony couldn’t stop grinning, only sobering slightly when he earnestly approached Abby with shining eyes. “Thank you, Abby. I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, Tony!” Abby took his forearm and gave it a reassuring squeeze as she pulled him into a gentle hug.

Tony stiffened in her arms, frozen in place. Despite her careful handling, his back blazed with pain, his mind went blank. The warm body against his aching chest and the strangely delicate scent of gunpowder brought him out of his fugue. Shifting her hands from the welts she could feel through his shirt, Abby held him until his breathing evened, whispering apologies and reassurances into his ear.

Gibbs met Abby’s glistening eyes over Tony’s shoulder. He had hoped their unique affinity for each other would help draw the injured agent out. Once Tony’s hands uncertainly snaked around her waist to return the suffocating hug, he knew he was right…

000

As the same theme song played repetitively in the background, Gibbs looked up from his book to find Tony and Abby had finally fallen asleep under the fleece blanket, contentedly tangled together like a pair of puppies. With a soft chuff of amusement, the lead agent rose to fish around for the remote, successfully turning Tony’s TV and anything else the remote controlled off before turning to his two charges. Citing his advanced age, Ducky had left after Tony’s nebulizer treatment a few hours earlier, but Abby and Tony had begged Gibbs for permission for Abby to stay for a couple of Magnum episodes. Before Gibbs knew it, they had run through two disks and half a box of popsicles, happily chattering the entire time about plotlines and characters. A few episodes back, Gibbs had noticed it had become quieter in the room but he hadn’t really checked on them until now.

A quick glance at his watch showed Tony was due for his last medication of the day within the next half hour, so he decided he might as well wake them now. First putting a kettle on, he boiled some water for hot chocolate, adding extra milk to cool Tony’s cup then juggling the three mugs into the den. As he bent over the pair, Gibbs paused with a discomfited frown when the small gold charm glittered his name back at him from the hollow of Tony’s throat. Sighing deeply, he gave Abby’s shoulder a gentle shake, shushing her when her eyes slowly opened to focus on him. He then turned to Tony, who was more roused by Abby extricating herself than anything else. Handing them each a mug, Gibbs sat on the coffee table to visit with his two sleepy guests then passed Tony his pills and ensured he took them all.

Gibbs couldn’t help but notice how much more relaxed Tony seemed since Abby arrived. He couldn’t help but recognize the establishment of his ‘rules’ had taken a huge burden off the younger man’s shoulders, giving him guidelines he understood and could easily follow. The snippets and glimpses he’d had of Tony’s childhood, over the years, had been of a tightly regimented one and what little he had seen of Tony’s life in captivity had been of one of absolute control, so he could understand Tony’s reticence to do anything he wasn’t strictly instructed to do. Now that Gibbs’ rules gave him some freedoms, even though Gibbs caught him often pausing to gauge everyone’s reactions, Tony was able to begin to function a bit more normally.

Before Tony’s pills had a chance to hit his bloodstream, Gibbs trundled him upstairs to bed. When they reached the hall, the two men collided as Tony headed for the master bedroom while Gibbs veered towards the guest room. Gibbs looked at Tony in consternation as Tony ducked his head in embarrassment. Without another word, Gibbs guided Tony to his bed, hooked him up to the cannula still sitting beside it and drew the blanket over him before trotting downstairs to let Abby know the guest room was free after all.

000

  



	15. Chapter 15

  


When Ziva arrived the next day, it was Tony who hurriedly threw open the door to welcome her in with an eager grin. After a long talk on the phone with Abby that morning, she had expected Tony to be somewhat shy and unsure, yet he seemed to be bustling with excitement. Ducky, Abby and Gibbs all seemed to be taken aback by Tony’s behavior, so Ziva knew it wasn’t just she who was startled by it.

Ziva found herself at a loss as to how to handle the attention as Tony followed her every movement. When he actively hung on her every word and gesture, she couldn’t help the small flashes of annoyance even though she knew he didn’t mean anything by it. Ziva had never been good at small talk; assassins didn’t talk, they acted. Tony was the talker on the team, often to everyone else’s never-ending distraction. It was a tendency they often put to good use in the field, which made this conversation all the more awkward as he waited to follow everyone else’s lead.

Her own summer held captive in a terrorist camp still fresh in her mind, Ziva thought she would have a frame of reference she could fall back on to help her deal with Tony, instead, faced with behavior she never could have expected, she found herself examining him as if a target in the field, trying to ferret out his motivations and trigger points. 

Tony’s eyes constantly darted around the room, often falling on Gibbs for hidden cues. When spoken to, he answered promptly with almost a bow in his inflection even if he left off their name at the end. Any positive reinforcement he received was met with a flash of startled disbelief before a warm glow lit his face, then he’d lower his lashes and stare at his interlaced fingers for a moment before rejoining the discussion.

Ziva noticed Tony was much less formal with Abby; she wasn’t sure if it was because Abby also wore a collar, making Tony feel she was closer to his equal, or if there were other reasons behind it. While she had been on good terms with both for most of her time at NCIS, Ziva had always been somewhat jealous of the intimacy they shared in their unique relationship where even a stolen look, a raised eyebrow or a conspiratorial grin could obviously convey so much. With Ziva, Tony was much more reserved, as if he was nervous about offending her. As much as the intensity of his scrutiny was undeniable, he kept himself at arm’s length from her at all times, which frustrated Ziva horribly. 

Finally, Ziva hopefully suggested, “You have some questions you would like me to answer, yes?”

He seemed to search his mind for a neutral subject before giving up and taking the plunge. “Abby said you always have some weapons on you?” he led, leaning forward while examining her inquisitively.

Ziva looked down at her hands which were unconsciously wringing each other in her lap. “Currently, I have seven knives and my backup.”

Tony’s eyes widened as he sat back in surprise. His eyes nervously traced Ziva from her fitted knit top, down her cargo pants to her boots then back again.

Ziva’s brows furrowed in frustration, as much as his attention was throwing her, she did not wish for him to be afraid of her either. She sought guidance from the others, but saw they were as perplexed by the situation as she was. When she first arrived, Abby and Ducky had occasionally tried to help support the conversation but had obviously decided to sit back and allow the two partners to sort things out for themselves.

Interrupting the awkward silence, with a glance at his watch, Gibbs soundlessly rose and disappeared into the kitchen, reappearing a moment later with a glass and small handful of pills, which he tersely handed to Tony. Tony frowned into his hand then up at Gibbs, wordlessly questioning and then conceding before taking each pill individually until they were all gone. With a subtle gesture, Gibbs ordered Tony to finish the glass before taking it back into the kitchen. 

Releasing a resigned sigh, Tony settled a little lower into the couch as he got himself comfortable. He knew these pills would have him asleep in no time at all. He looked at Ziva through hooded eyes for a long time before apparently coming to some resolution. “Zeevah,” he slurred slightly. “I really wish I remembered everything…”

“I wish you did, as well.” Seeing by the crestfallen look which crossed his face, it wasn’t the answer he was hoping for, Ziva admitted wistfully, “You know, I like when you elongate my name.” 

“Hunh?” Tony drowsily blinked at her.

“It is your nickname for me. I have grown fond of it.”

“What’s your nickname for me?” he asked as he fought the pull of his noontime pills.

Ziva gave him a sly smile. “My little hairy butt.”

Tony’s hand absently wandered to his posterior as he groggily protested, “But, it’s not hairy…”

000

Ducky looked thoughtfully at the young woman sitting across from him. Her tea rapidly cooling in front of her, Ziva picked at her blueberry scone as the coffee shop bustled all around them. The coroner had invited her out to tea as her visit with Tony wound down and she had gratefully accepted. He could see she was at a loss with the situation and was sure she could use a sounding board about now. 

Noticing Ducky’s scrutiny, Ziva colored slightly as she tried to calm her hands. “Ducky, have you ever wondered what makes us…” She waved her hands around, indicating the two of them. “..us?

Ducky chuckled fondly. “Ah… Nature versus nurture – it’s an age old debate. Anthony does still seem like Anthony, yet he has intrinsically changed as well both with his amnesia and his experiences in captivity. I can assure you, my dear, our Tony is in there – I’ve seen glimpses -- he just isn’t sure if it’s safe to make an appearance quite yet.”

“With Gibbs it was so much easier.”

“Ah, but Jethro had you to smack the sense back into him. Don’t think we haven’t tried that but Anthony is having none of it. When it’s time, it’ll all come back.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Ducky tilted his head with a wry grin as he considered the young woman. “Jethro is so certain of it, how could I not be?”

Ziva shook her head definitively. “But, even Gibbs cannot know this.”

“Perhaps not. Then again, isn’t faith and hope all we have ever had through this entire situation? To give up hope is to give up on Anthony and he’s most definitely still full of surprises. I would not count him out quite yet. After all, it has only been eight days since he was returned to us!”

“Has he remembered anything?”

Resting his elbows on the table, Ducky steepled his fingers and, tapping his index fingers to his lips, considered her question. “Aside from knowing Jethro is his boss, I do not know. I doubt even Anthony knows. There have certainly not been any monumental revelations. His amnesia is also somewhat unique. Jethro had a more classic loss of a period of time – a long time, certainly, but an established linear timeframe, which simply thrust him backwards to a different point in his life.’

‘Anthony, on the other hand, has lost a substantial portion of his life with other parts, his captivity to be specific, seemingly stretched out to fill the voids. He has some spotty memories of his childhood and will come up with trivia and references related to other parts of his life with no tangible knowledge of how he came to know this information – Jethro being his boss would be the primary example. He knows Jethro simply as his boss and that’s good enough for him yet, when pressed, he cannot tell you anything else about their relationship. It’s all quite bewildering to him and makes helping him cope with it all quite a maddening exercise”

Ziva fiddled with her cup. Without meeting Ducky’s gaze, she got to the subject which had been troubling her, “I admit I have used sex to further a mission but I have never had it forced upon me…”

Ducky frowned into his cup as he considered his response. It had long been assumed that certain things had happened in Somalia, yet Ziva had just obliquely answered the unasked question, much to the coroner’s relief.

Quirking his eyebrow at her, he asked, “Does it change how you look at Tony to know he has experience with both?”

Ziva’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Just that.” Ducky raised an eyebrow as Ziva digested his statement and the implications therein. He smiled in approval as he saw realization transform into newfound understanding. “We cannot fathom what transpired over all those lost months but what we saw that brief time we were able to watch, Jethro will never discuss with anyone and I would be remiss to venture much further than to say what I already have aside from this -- Anthony’s role in his protection of those Marines and escape from that place was far more active than you could imagine. Who you saw at Jethro’s may appear to be a severely damaged individual, but appearances can be quite deceiving as Anthony has shown time and again throughout his tenure at NCIS.”

“I did not realize…”

Ducky patted Ziva’s hand as he rose. “No one does, my dear. Don’t worry yourself about it. Neither Jethro nor Anthony would likely have it discussed, so we’ll keep this between us, okay? Now, I must get back to the office.”

“Thank you, Ducky.” Watching the coroner push open the door, setting off the overhead chime as he passed, Ziva mulled over the new information as she continued to play with her scone.

000

Striding out into an early summer shower, Ducky scurried towards his Morgan, grateful for not the first time that the driver’s seat was on the right, allowing him to jump right in rather than wait for traffic to ease to open his door. Taking a moment to sort himself out, Ducky hooked his index finger into the fob pocket in the front of his trousers. He flipped open the antique pocket watch to pull out the delicate paper, carefully unfolding it to read one more time…

_‘Merry Christmas, Ducky!_

_I hope you didn’t panic if you found this missing! I know how much this book means to you. Rest assured it was only in the best of hands. It was always so great to bring it to your mother and see her mind come alive with the memories. I really enjoyed the stories your mother would tell me of her incredible life as she turned the pages and traced the maps; they were almost as good as yours! Give your mother a kiss on the cheek from her Italian gigolo dog groomer. We’ll catch up when I get back…_

_All my best!_

_Tony’_

000

“Boss?”

Gibbs opened his eyes to look down where Tony’s head was nestled to his chest. Tony had been unusually animated when Ziva arrived and had spent much of her visit watching her expectantly, his hands balled in excitement. While Tony was taking his noontime nap, Abby had likened his behavior to a mongoose chasing after a cobra, the way he was always as close to Ziva as he dared yet mindfully just out of reach. 

The moment Ziva and Ducky left, Tony’s spirits had crashed. He had become increasingly withdrawn and Gibbs was concerned at the cause, uncertain if it was due to the cumulative effect of one more visit to remind him of his misplaced life or something else entirely. He had tried to broach the subject a couple of times over the course of the evening, but Tony hadn’t risen to the bait, if anything, just becoming more pensive as the day wore on. By the time they went to bed, Tony had done a complete turnaround and become unbelievably clingy instead.

“Yeah?”

“It’s not gonna work, is it?”

“What’s that?”

“Ziva’s magic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You know… My memory…” Tony tilted his head to meet Gibbs’ eyes, his look one of pure disillusionment. “I thought… Abby said Ziva might be able to get me to remember, like she did for you…”

Feeling his blood pressure rise, Gibbs pressed his lips together as he schooled his thoughts. “Abby told you this?” He would have to have a long talk with her if that was true. 

The green eyes darted away in shame. “No. I heard her tell you and Ducky yesterday. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he protested anxiously into Gibbs’ chest as his body grew taut. “I could hear her without even trying.”

“Don’t worry; we all know you have the ears of a bat.” With a sigh, Gibbs tightened his hold on Tony’s shoulder. “She was hopin’, Tony. That’s all.”

“It just…” He curled tighter then pushed himself away slightly as he contended with his thoughts.

“Tony…”

“No! I… It’s…” Sitting up with a wince, he snorted and turned away from Gibbs, setting his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands as he took a few deep breaths through the cannula. The strained words he spoke next stunned Gibbs, “Everyone wants me to be this Tony – I want to be this Tony – have his life instead of mine – but I’m not and I don’t know how to make it better…” Tony coughed thickly at the tail end of his outburst. A couple of taps on the arm drew his attention to the cup of water Gibbs silently offered. He accepted it with a grudging nod of thanks, taking a few careful sips while he ran his hand through his hair in frustration.

“You’re our Tony and there’s nothing for you to make better,” Gibbs stressed, watching Tony carefully as his shoulders slumped, his head hung low and tilted away from him, not accepting his words. “Tony… DiNozzo, look at me.”

“Boss…”

Putting a bit of a bark into his voice, Gibbs insisted, “I mean it. Look at me now!” Gibbs crawled around Tony until he was facing him. He stared intently at Tony, waiting for the eyes which kept darting away to meet his. “A week and a half ago, we didn’t even know if you were alive. Now, you’re home safe where you belong. No fictional Tony saved those Marines – whether you believe me or not, you did! It’s your life. You’re you no matter what anyone says. You gotta trust me.” 

Tony absently rolled the oxygen tube in his fingers as he earnestly muttered, “But, what do I do?”

“For now, we work on getting you healthy again. Take each day as it comes. Everything else will fall into place in time; we just gotta be patient.” Bleak eyes drifted away from him as he pressed, “Tony, you’re mine now – always have been. Just remember that. From now on, I want you to look every person directly in the eye and remember, to us, you’re irreplaceable. Got it?” Gibbs’ eyes softened at the expression of hopeful wonder on Tony’s face.

“Got it, Boss.”

“Good, now let’s get some sleep.” Gibbs scooted back over to his side of the bed, allowing Tony to sort himself out without assistance. By the time Gibbs was comfortable, Tony had managed to slip back under the covers and snuggle back in beside him.

Sleepily tracing the Marine insignia on Gibbs’ t-shirt, Tony asked in a small voice, “Boss? Ziva said she had seven knives – I could only figure out where five were. Where are the other two?”

“DiNozzo…”

“Going to sleep, Boss.”

000

  



	16. Chapter 16

  


_McGregor smoothed his palms over his thighs before knocking on the door. He felt like he was on a first date, not visiting his partner who had been missing and presumed dead until little more than a week ago._

_Pimmy Jalmer threw the door open wide and welcomed him in with a brilliant smile. “We’ll be right down. I just got here to do a quick bandage change. Tibbs is in the den.”_

_As McGregor uncertainly wandered in, Agent Tibbs glanced up from his paper to note, “Gave ya a key, McGregor.”_

_McGregor’s eyes strayed to the stairs, watching for his partner. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t sure if I should knock or not.”_

_“Next time just let yourself in. With the meds, the time change and everything, there’s no tellin’ when Tommy’s sleepin’,” Tibbs explained simply._

_McGregor took the time to really look at his superior then, finally truly seeing him since Tommy had been found. Tibbs’ eyes were clear and surprisingly open for the somewhat closed man, yet lines of strain radiated from their corners. Tibbs’ nonchalance belied a protective vigilance which showed in every line of his body. McGregor had barely sat down on the couch when he heard two sets of feet coming down the stairs. Uncertain how to handle it, he stood anxiously to watch them descend the last few steps._

_With one hand tightly gripping the hand rail and the other around Pimmy’s shoulders, even slightly hunched over, Tommy towered over the diminutive Polynesian. While he concentrated on navigating the wide wooden steps, he still allowed his eyes to quickly dart around the room in intervals, making note of where Tibbs was and peering curiously at McGregor._

_Once he hit level floor, Tommy released Pimmy and rapidly crossed the room to where Tibbs was reclining. “Hey, Boss! There’s a Porsche Boxster in front of the house!”_

_“It’s McGregor’s. You wanna go check it out?” Tibbs raised an indulgent eyebrow at Tommy’s eagerness. Folding the chair upright, he rose to stand between the two men. “Tommy, this is McGregor – he works with me.”_

_Even after getting explanations and descriptions from everyone who had seen Tommy already, McGregor found himself unprepared when Tommy turned to face him to see no recognition whatsoever in those familiar eyes. Tommy was definitely Tommy, of that there was no argument, but this Tommy was so incredibly different yet with the same basic Tommyness it was hard to get a handle on how to deal with him._

_Tommy took the initiative by offering his hand. Making an obvious effort to meet McGregor’s eyes, he shook his hand, “Boss says we know each other. It’s nice to meet you.”_

_Under Tibbs’ watchful gaze, McGregor blustered for a moment before replying, “It’s great to see you, Tommy. You want to see my Porsche?”_

_Tommy’s answer was to head towards the front door with a grin. Still closely shadowing Tommy, Pimmy accompanied the tall agent, his hands out and ready to help if he needed it when he occasionally wavered between steps. McGregor fell into step in his familiar place at Tommy’s left shoulder, much as he usually did when they were working, so their gun hands were always free._

_“Tommy, jacket,” Tibbs commanded as he followed behind, grabbing the Michigan State letterman jacket off a hook by the door and tossing it to Tommy, who caught it one-handed and awkwardly shrugged it on with Pimmy’s help._

_By the time Tibbs got outside, Tommy was already walking around McGregor’s car with a look of awe on his face, shooting off technical questions non-stop. McGregor popped the hood to allow him to peer at the inner workings of the roadster, grateful to have something safe to talk about. Before he knew it, Tommy was begging Tibbs for permission to go for a ride in the silver Porsche._

_While he initially balked, Tibbs soon relented under the non-stop pressure from Tommy, in some ways apparently relieved to see Tommy eager to do something, especially when Tommy continued to push, albeit slightly less enthusiastically, despite the fact that Tibbs could not accompany him in the two seated sports car. Ten minutes later, after McGregor was pulled aside for a stern lecture of dos and don’ts while Tommy continued to admire the car, they roared off down the street for a quick circuit of the neighborhood._

_Hopping onto the highway for a brief stretch, McGregor gave Tommy a little taste of the Porsche’s power as they were both pushed back into the warm leather seats so smoothly it was as if the car was rushing up to caress them._

_“Oh, crap,” McGregor complained as he looked in his rearview mirror to see the flashing blue lights of a police car._

_“What’s wrong, McGregor?”_

_“I’m being pulled over.” He looked over at his partner worriedly. “It’s no big deal,” he reassured Tommy. “Just be quiet and do whatever the officer tells you and we should be home in no time.”_

_The patrolman walked up to the driver’s door with a bored expression. “License and registration.”_

_“Of course, Officer. Here you go.” McGregor just wanted this done and over with so he could get Tommy home before Tibbs sent out the hounds on him._

_“Do you have any idea how fast you were going, Mr…” He looked at the driver’s license. “McGregor?”_

_“Um… Uh… Special Agent McGregor,” McGregor corrected politely. “I’m afraid I don’t, Officer. I’m very sorry…”_

_“Yeah, I’m sure, Mr. Special Agent. Well, for your information, you were going 98 miles per hour in a 60 zone.”_

_“Wow!” Tommy huskily exclaimed to McGregor. “It didn’t even feel like it.” He fell silent and looked up anxiously when the police officer at his shoulder bent low enough to scrutinize him._

_The patrolman’s partner glanced at Tommy with disinterest, standing back up only to take a second, far more intense look._

_“Drew, he look familiar to you at all?”_

_His partner, Drew, bent low to see across McGregor’s lap to his passenger when, out the corner of his eye, he spied McGregor’s back-up weapon. “GUN!”_

_His partner snapped his weapon out of his holster and trained it on Tommy. “Step out of the car!”_

_Tommy froze, his eyes wide with panic. “McGregor?!”_

_With one hand in view for the cops, McGregor’s fingers urgently fumbled for his cell phone, hitting speed dial 1 automatically before placing the other hand on the steering wheel. “Seriously, officer, I’m a federal agent. Please allow me to show you my ID.”_

_“We need you and your passenger to step out of the car now, sir.”_

_“But, he’s a federal agent also, recently injured in the line of duty,” McGregor protested. “I was just taking him out for a short drive on the Beltway starting at exit 177 and heading west for a few exits. Please allow me to identify myself!”_

_“Step out of the car and we’ll sort everything out then. Keep your hands where I can see them,” Drew ordered impatiently. He yanked the car door open and stepped aside to allow McGregor room to exit his vehicle without stepping into traffic._

_Once McGregor had been frisked, cuffed and left leaning against his car, the two policemen turned to Tommy, who hadn’t moved since the entire ordeal began._

_“Okay, wiseguy, you can step out of the car now.”_

_“Tommy, just do what they say,” McGregor pleaded._

_“Shit! John, do you know who he is? Check the BOLO sheets! I think he’s the guy the FBI’s been looking for. Tomas Di-something or other. He’s changed his appearance a little, but I swear it’s him! Release your seatbelt slowly with your right hand and get out of the car,” Drew ordered as he swung Tommy’s door open._

_His eyes not wavering from the two gun barrels pointing at him, Tommy apprehensively slid his hand to release the seatbelt._

_“No sudden moves, Mister, just come out of the car nice and slow.”_

_“Drew, I think they want him alive.”_

_“As long as he behaves, he will be.”_

_Swerving to avoid a car which had slowed down to see what was happening at the side of the road, a truck blared its air horns loudly, distracting the two police officers and giving Tommy a chance for escape. Scrabbling over the stick shift, Tommy bolted for the open driver’s door and senselessly sprinted directly out into traffic. With one hand out to delay blockers, he stutter-stepped across two lanes, pulling up short to allow a car to whiz past before dashing across that lane, pirouetting once and then again before scrambling for the safety of the median. The two police officers gamely followed in hot pursuit amidst blaring horns and the screech of tires._

_Hopping over the guardrail, Tommy’s eyes were on the wide, grassy median beyond. As he leapt off the guardrail, one of his sneaker laces momentarily caught on a bolt, pitching him over the rail and flat onto his back on the rocky ground. Stunned by the impact, he writhed in pain, his back bowed and arched as his hands grabbed at anything to help as he rolled over and attempted to regain his feet. Drew kicked off from the top of the guardrail to land on top of the fugitive, bringing him down with an agonized howl. His partner, John, frantically dodged traffic to join him. Once he reached the pair tumbling in the scrub grass, he grabbed at Tommy’s elbows, pressing his knee into the struggling man’s back to help wrench his hands behind him._

_A sudden blur of grey clattered with a roar through the median, as the Ford bounced over the rough terrain before skidding to a stop mere feet from the three men. Agent Tibbs jumped from the truck, sprinted through the cloud of dust his arrival had kicked up and descended upon the patrolmen with his ID and the Agency BOLO in one hand and his gun in the other._

McGee sagged against his car in shocked relief as he watched the stand-off. When the second officer landed on him, Tony had stopped struggling; he lay still at the policemen’s feet while the argument raged over him. Gibbs would give no quarter as he edged closer to his agent. A supervisor’s car pulled over to the median, blocking the far left lane. McGee saw the police sergeant coolly step out of his car and climb over the guardrail to try to diffuse the situation. While he was watching, a black SUV screeched to a halt behind the patrol car behind him.

Tobias Fornell calmly strode over to McGee and removed his handcuffs with a wry smile. “With a car like this, you got caught?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not Gibbs.”

“I’m surprised DiNotzo didn’t talk you into it anyway.”

“He’s not himself right now,” McGee hedged.

“Yeah, I know. I pulled the BOLO the minute Jethro informed me he found him. Apparently these idiots didn’t update their folder. How’s he doing?”

By now, Gibbs was crouched down beside Tony. McGee cringed when his superior thrust the empty handcuffs over his back to one of the officers then bent back down to the injured agent. With a slight stagger visible even from a distance, Jimmy Palmer brought a bag from the truck to kneel at Gibbs’ side. McGee hadn’t even seen Jimmy up until then, but was glad he was there.

“I don’t know. I don’t think he’s moved yet.”

Fornell frowned in concern. “Why don’t you go check on your partner, I’ll deal with the police. Have Jethro call me later.”

McGee nodded his thanks before turning to trot across the road. By now the bumper to bumper traffic was slowly drifting past the excitement, so it was relatively easy to cross the highway. Hearing a siren in the distance, McGee could see an ambulance carefully wending its way through the traffic jam. By the time he reached Gibbs, Jimmy had stripped off Tony’s Ohio State jacket so he could examine him and then appropriated a blanket from the police to cover Tony with. As he lay it over him, Tim could see the blood seeping through his shirt.

Sidling over to stand next to Gibbs, he asked, “How bad is it, Boss?”

Gibbs didn’t raise his head from where he crouched over Tony. “Bad enough. We’re taking him to Bethesda to be checked out.”

“Is he unconscious?”

“They knocked the wind out of him. I gave him some Morphine,” Jimmy answered. “He’ll be out for a little while.”

“I’m sorry—“

“Don’t apologize!” Gibbs finally looked up at him, squinting where Tim’s shadow didn’t block the sun. “I heard everything. It wasn’t your fault. Next time, Tim, show them your badge with your license.”

“Yes, Boss.”

The paramedics gently rolled Tony onto the stretcher and loaded him into the ambulance. As soon as Jimmy was stationed on the bench next to the stretcher, it rushed off towards Bethesda. With McGee tagging behind, Gibbs thrust himself into the center of the huddle between Fornell and the three local policemen, ensuring the issue was resolved to his satisfaction and making an impression on the two patrolmen they wouldn’t soon forget. Once McGee’s paperwork was returned to him, he and Gibbs got into their vehicles and headed for Maryland.

Ducky awaited them at the Emergency Room with a stern nod towards McGee before informing Gibbs, “It looks worse than it is. Mister Palmer is with him while they stitch up a few tears on his back. For the most part, he simply has some new bruises to add to the old. They’ll be taking him down to x-ray once they’re done with him up here to ensure his skull fracture is still stable and he didn’t break any ribs.”

“Is he awake yet, Duck?”

“No. I wouldn’t expect him to awaken for a few more hours yet. Brad is admitting him for observation but doesn’t anticipate his staying the night.”

“Brad is bringing him downstairs right now if you want to come,” a cheerful voice said behind Gibbs.

The lead agent turned to see Brad Pitt grinning at him. Gibbs raised an eyebrow and dipped backwards to look beyond the doctor to see the gurney and Jimmy Palmer coming out from behind a curtain. He turned his attention back to Brad. “Whaddaya think, Brad?”

“I think we should lock him into my isolation room,” was the good-natured suggestion. “Barring that, he should be fine. While he has some spots of concern, the x-rays are more of a formality. As long as he’s responsive when he wakes up and his lungs are sufficiently clear, I’ll double-check his protocols and send him home if you promise to not break him anymore.”

Gibbs dryly glared at the doctor as he stepped to the side of the gurney and kept pace with it. “He’s never with me when he gets hurt,” he defended.

“Maybe we should lock him to you then.”

“Must I remind you of that incident his first night home, Jethro?” Ducky asked archly as he hung onto the bedrail near Tony’s head.

As they all squeezed into the elevator, Brad asked with a quizzical glance at Gibbs, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing, Doc. Let’s shoot those pictures so I can get him home.”

000

A soft cough drew Gibbs’ attention to the man on the other side of the hood. He couldn’t see Tony’s head where it was ducked low behind the car as the injured agent studiously waxed the wheel well. Once Tony began to regain some mobility, the team leader had tried to find ways to involve him in normal activities but so far, ever since the incident with McGee and the police, he had been especially compelled to keep Tony close to home. Not that Tony wanted to venture very far anyways; even Jimmy’s invitation to the nearby supermarket to pick out some junk food for the pantry was shaken off in lieu of a nap. As much as his agent was bouncing back from the shock following his beating and escape, he was still nursing some serious injuries, both physical and emotional, and Gibbs didn’t want to push him too hard. 

Today was the last day of Gibbs’ two and a half week leave, so tomorrow he was due back at the office. To that end, Gibbs wanted to make sure Tony was comfortable enough at home to feel secure being left alone with Gerald. A sunny afternoon washing cars seemed like a good idea and Tony had jumped at the chance to get his hands on the Challenger, so they had spent the past few hours in mostly companionable silence as they washed and buffed the car into showroom condition.

A series of dry, hacking coughs caught Tony off-guard. Crouched down beside the front tire, he rested some of his weight on his hands as he tipped to his knees to keep his balance while he caught his breath. When he furtively checked to see if Gibbs had noticed, his eyes widened nervously when he met the worried glare.

“Maybe it’s time for you to stop.”

“Please, Boss? I’m fine. Just a tickle.”

“It’s the damn wax fumes again. If Brad or Duck catches us, it’ll be both our heads. You want to wash the truck while I finish?”

“I’m fine, Boss. I’ll lean back so they don’t bother me so much. Please?”

Unable to refuse the earnest gaze, Gibbs gave in with a tip of his head, eliciting a delighted grin from Tony, who immediately bent back to work. Gibbs sighed and resumed buffing his side of the car with an eye and ear on his charge.

“Boss?”

“What’s up?”

“A car like this needs to be kept under cover, Boss. Why don’t you have it in your garage?”

“Can’t see the sense in having a car like this without usin’ it, besides I have something very special in the garage,” Gibbs replied cryptically in invitation.

Tony curiously looked past his shoulder at the small one car garage. As Gibbs had hoped, he rose to the bait. “What is it?”

“Come ‘ere.”

With one eye on Tony, Gibbs lifted the door slowly to reveal what was inside. He held his breath as Tony caught his at the sight of the shiny red sports car parked inside. Tony took a step back in shock at the 1977 Trans Am. When Gibbs flipped on the lights, the car shone, the black and gold firebird on the hood glistened while Tony approached with an expression akin to awe. With nodded permission from Gibbs, he ran his fingers longingly over the smooth curves, peered in the t-roof and smiled at the DC license plate:

**VRYSPCL**

“Except for the color, it’s just like the Bandit’s…” Tony murmured reverently.

“Yup, it’s a Burt Reynolds Limited Edition Ban 3 restore with all the bells and whistles.”

“Why don’t you drive it, Boss? Something like this needs to be savored.”

“Not mine. Taking care of it for a friend.”

“Who?”

He watched Tony closely, hoping he was ready for whatever the reaction would be, as he answered simply, “You.”

Not once taking his hand from the car, Tony shook his head in disbelief as he struggled to wrap his mind around the new information. Gibbs watched as, once again, what Tony knew and what he had been told warred in his mind. Tony didn’t see himself as having possessions, just having things provided for him to use but not to own. In his mind, he, himself, was a possession -- to possess something this incredible was impossible to him.

“I… It’s beautiful, Boss,” he whispered hoarsely. He slowly circled it, savoring every line, his hands ghosting over the spoiler. “It’s really mine?”

“Yup. All yours.”

His Boss had never lied to him, so it had to be true. That didn’t mean he had to believe it, however.

000

  



	17. Chapter 17

  


With a frustrated glance at her watch, Ziva rushed from the elevator, making a beeline for her desk as she muttered a few invectives about crazy DC drivers under her breath in Hebrew. McGee raised his eyes long enough to greet her before concentrating on his monitor again. Ziva looked to Gibbs’ desk, noticing with relief the absence of his jacket or any cups in the trash.

“Gibbs is late?” she inquired in surprise.

McGee frowned at the chronometer on his computer before replying, “I haven’t seen him yet. I hope everything’s okay.”

The elevator dinged, drawing both their attention in time to see Gibbs stride through the still opening doors with Tony trooping close at his heels, his backpack in one hand, a small roll of egg crate foam tucked under his arm and his eyes filled with nervous wonder. Upon noticing the pair, several agents rose and a murmur spread across the squad room, only to be silenced by an all encompassing glare followed by a smug, triumphant grin. When they abruptly stopped in front of his desk, Tony stood right at Gibbs’ elbow. He paused from gawking at the big orange room to smile shyly in reply to both agents’ welcomes.

Setting a smoothie on DiNozzo’s desk, Gibbs ordered quietly, “Sit here. Make yourself comfortable and eat your breakfast.” He rummaged in a paper bag, pulling out a breakfast burrito and placing it in front of Tony. “Be sure to use the cushion, Ducky’s already threatened me with his damn liver probe if you don’t.”

“Everything okay, Boss?” McGee asked as he watched Tony curiously unwrap the burrito and suspiciously sniff it before taking a tentative bite.

“Gerald had a family emergency so I had to bring Tony to work. He could probably use some time out of the house anyways. We got tied up forever in the security office getting his unrestricted visitor’s pass and he kept setting off the damn metal detector,” Gibbs grumped. “I was tempted to just give him his badge as if that would do any good. George finally stepped in and waved us through. He’s gonna give Tony a waiver so none of the new guys get any ideas about strip searching him.” He beckoned his junior agent over to add, “McGee, when you get a chance, I’d like you to get some games and stuff on Tony’s phone for him. Just… use your best judgment.”

“On it, Boss. I just have a couple things to finish up.”

Gibbs nodded his thanks. 

“Uh… does Abby know he’s here?”

“Already been by to see her. Ziva, how is it coming with that cold case?”

“McGee reviewed the financials and I have checked with several of my contacts, but nothing concrete yet. It appears that lead may not pot out after all.”

“Pan,” Tony automatically corrected around his straw, earning curious stares from the team. His eyes grew wide at his own impertinence in correcting the Israeli. Placing his drink on the desk, he sat further back in the chair to mutter throatily, “Sorry.” Tony’s limbs all flew out instinctively when his chair suddenly tipped backwards, catching himself as he got his balance. Flushing in embarrassment, he spent the next few minutes experimenting with the chair, cautiously hefting his weight to more deeply settle into it before allowing it to rock backwards again.

“No, you’re right, Tony,” McGee assured kindly. “It is ‘pan out’, Ziva.”

Giving Tony a knowing smile which he timorously returned, she accepted the correction with a satisfied bob of her ponytail before primly sitting back down at her desk.

Gibbs quelled a smile at the normalcy of the moment. For all Tony was still recovering, the fire he was worried had been extinguished still showed flickers of life. Noticing the first burrito was gone, he offered a second one, silently thrilled when Tony accepted it eagerly and proceeded to eat the majority of it before apologetically setting the remainder to the side. The lead agent organized his paperwork in front of him, ready for another long, boring day of working cold cases and dealing with a backlog of requisitions until something more pressing came up. He found his gaze wandered the bullpen regularly, taking a great deal of comfort in seeing all the desks occupied as they should be.

McGee finished keying in the new search parameters and scooted his chair across to Tony’s desk. Rising to peek over Tony’s shoulder as he dipped it so Tim could see the screen better, he found Tony playing solitaire. “Sweet! You got him an iPhone?” he looked over to his superior in disbelief.

“I asked them for something he could play games on. They said he could get lots of games on that one if you rebooted it for us. It does that, right?”

“Well… Yeah, Boss.”

Satisfied, Gibbs bent back to his work without another word.

McGee sighed and turned to Tony. “You want to find some good games to play? There are loads of cool apps you can get; I can help you load them and set up your phonebook.” When Tony slid his chair over to make space in invitation, Tim rolled his chair in next to him and spun the monitor so both could see it, then started scrolling through the various options with his partner.

A short while later, Gibbs’ phone rang. He snatched it up in his usual fashion and listened to the other end of the line before dropping it back on the hook. “Quick briefing in Vance’s office. Some sort of follow-up on the smuggling case last month.” He looked over at Tony and quickly mulled his options. 

The lead agent knew the meeting shouldn’t take long but he hadn’t missed the attention Tony had received from everyone over the past few hours even if his senior field agent seemed relatively oblivious to it. Gibbs had never seen so many people use the copiers on the other side of their partition and the catwalk to MTAC also experienced far more traffic than was reasonable. Gibbs understood everyone’s excitement at Tony’s return, but he also felt an overwhelming need to protect him from his well-meaning colleagues. So far, he had managed to fend them off with his mere presence, but that would only work for so long. Deciding he could always leave Tony with the Director’s secretary, he beckoned him to join them upstairs.

When the team rose to join him, Gibbs shook his head at the number of people who suddenly found something urgently needing to be done elsewhere. As staffers scattered before him, he trotted up the stairs without pause, confident his team was directly behind him. Entering the outer office, Gibbs was dismayed to find it empty; Cynthia had apparently gone on an errand and was nowhere to be seen. With a glance to ensure Tony was still behind him, Gibbs burst through the office doors and rapidly strode to the desk.

Director Vance glanced up as the team entered, his head shooting up when he noticed Gibbs’ second beside him. Recovering quickly, he slipped the toothpick out of his mouth and, leaning back, rolled it between two fingers as they assembled before him. “Agent DiNozzo, it’s good to see you,” he intoned deeply in greeting, watching the agent curiously as he uncomfortably returned his gaze.

Gibbs looked sharply at Tony when he felt him suddenly stiffen beside him. Noticing the glazed expression, he could see the man’s breath progressively become more labored. Tony’s face was growing increasingly ashen as he began nonsensically shuffling backwards.

“Agent DiNozzo, are you all right?” Vance rose from behind his desk to help.

“Sent… me… a- away… no… Pa… no… no b- boat-t… no…” He backed into the conference table with a thud, spun away from it and kept going.

“Tony?” Gibbs grasped his agent by the arms, shaking them lightly while trying to get his attention. He was disturbed by the look in Tony’s eyes, the slackness of his face. He shook him again harder, trying to rouse him from his waking nightmare. “DiNozzo!”

At Gibbs’ bellow, Tony instantly fell to his knees with a resounding thud then dropped his forehead to the floor. His body shook in its urgency for flight as his chest heaved while it fought for each breath.

Still holding on to his forearms, Gibbs followed him down, kneeling at his side. “Get Ducky up here,” he ordered quietly before bending to Tony’s ear. “Tony? Come on, DiNozzo. D’ya hear me?” He lifted him up to face him and tenderly brushed the hair out of his eyes as he searched his face for some sign of recognition.

Rounding his focus onto Gibbs, Tony meekly gasped, “B-boss?”

Faintly, Gibbs repeated under his breath, “Breathe. Come on… Focus. You’re not going anywhere. No one’s sending you away.”

Unable to speak any more, Tony shook his head vigorously as he allowed Gibbs to lift him to his feet and steer him towards the couch. Once there, the lead agent backed him until he was sitting then forced his head down between his knees. Sitting on his haunches next to him, Gibbs gently stroked Tony’s back, leaning close to murmur softly to him as he waited for the attack to pass.

“Palmer’s coming up,” McGee informed them as he hovered to Tony’s right.

A cup of water was set at Gibbs’ knee. He looked up the arm in appreciation to meet Vance’s concerned expression.

“What’s wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Ziva discreetly opened the door to allow Jimmy into the office while Gibbs absently replied, “Panic attack, I think. We must have triggered a memory.”

“Doctor Mallard was tied up. He’ll be free in a few minutes.” The young medical student scurried in to crouch down next to his friend for a quick assessment. Pulling an oxygen mask out of the pouch he was carrying and twisting on the small portable tank, he encouraged, “Hey, Tony. This will help.” The ready acquiescence emboldened him. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?” The shrug didn’t deter him. Keeping in mind what he overheard Gibbs say when he entered, he asked, “Did you get a flash of something?” Jimmy held his breath when he got no answer. After a long pause, his patience was rewarded with a tentative nod. “Okay, why don’t you lie back on the couch and let me check you over?”

Gibbs was relieved to see Tony progressively relax as the oxygen flooded his lungs and Jimmy managed to distract him with the basic motions of an examination. 

Tony’s eyes drooped as he lay quietly. When Gibbs shifted to relieve the pressure on his knee, his attention drifted to him. “Sorry, Boss,” was the hollow comment from behind the mask.

“Tony, there’s nothing to apologize about. Why don’t we get you down to Abby’s lab to rest?”

Quick to react to any command, even one couched as a query, Tony immediately began struggling to rise. As Vance stepped aside, Jimmy and McGee scooted in to help Tony to his feet, then paused to wait for him to get his bearings before they escorted him out to the elevator with Gibbs staying close to his stricken agent.

The lead agent turned briefly to inform Vance, “We’ll be right back. If there’s anything pressing, go over it with Ziva until then.”

“Gibbs, what do the doctors say about his long-term prognosis?”

“He’ll be back.” Gibbs replied with conviction.

When the door closed, Vance turned to face Ziva. “Agent David, do you think he’s right?”

“I believe Gibbs will not be proven wrong,” she challenged.

000

“Toneeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!” Abby nearly swept all three men off their feet when they arrived in her doorway. She had been anxiously awaiting them since Ducky informed her Palmer had been called upstairs. Gripping Tony as tight as she dared, she excitedly noticed he returned the hug, however hesitantly. “I have the futon all set up and Bert is gonna help you get some rest and-- Timmy! I’ve got him!” She playfully whacked McGee on the shoulder, eliciting a shocked grin from Tony as she ushered him into her office.

With a little assistance, Tony was soon ensconced in the bright red futon, curled on his side with Bert clutched to his chest, making contented farting noises in the dim office light while Tony tiredly gazed into the darkness. Draping a Jack Skellington fleece blanket over him, Abby knelt at his back, soothingly stroking his hair while Jimmy and Gibbs made sure he no longer needed either of them. 

Ducky arrived to stand in the doorway with McGee as they got him settled. “I’m sorry I could not come straight away, Jethro. The poor lad looks all done in.”

“He’ll be fine. Flashed on something in Vance’s office. I think he remembered being assigned to the Reagan.”

Hooded eyes blinked once before searching out Gibbs. “Don’t want to go away, Boss.”

Gibbs bent close to Tony’s ear. “You aren’t going anywhere – end of discussion. Think you can stay with Abby for a little while and get some rest before lunch? Been a busy mornin’.”

He sleepily gave a half nod and snuggled deeper into the cushion with a soft accompanying fart from Bert.

“I’ll be right upstairs. You got your phone?”

After rummaging a moment, Tony pulled his phone from a pocket of his fleece pullover, lazily turning it over in his hand so Gibbs could see.

“Just remember, I’m speed dial number one. If you need me for any reason, just call. Okay?” When Tony’s lips curled slightly in reply, Gibbs rose to leave Tony in Abby’s sympathetic hands.

000

Probationary Agent Ben Reardon muttered under his breath as he strode from the elevator. He could never seem to please his new boss. Balboa was on his case from the moment he arrived from FLETC a few months ago and it appeared he simply could not win. After being out in the field since well before his normally scheduled hours and being forced to grab a late lunch on the run from one scene to the other, the rest of the team was downstairs in Autopsy going over the case with Doctor Mallard while he had been sent upstairs to do paperwork. He chafed at the boring drudge work often foisted onto probies and was feeling sorry for himself, especially on his first day back from a three week conditioning program Balboa had insisted on after a disastrous incident at a crime scene, which honestly wasn’t his fault.

Rounding into his team’s series of cubicles, his jaw dropped at what he saw across the squad room. A man was lazily reclining in The Chair of Death as many agents assigned to this branch had come to call it, playing a game on his phone with his feet resting on the desk blotter. 

Reardon had heard of Gibbs and his team while still at FLETC – everyone had -- they were the stuff of legend, with the team leader seemingly larger than life even to the instructors. When he found he had been assigned to the DC office, many of his classmates both congratulated and commiserated over his luck and he drew a big breath of relief when he thankfully found himself on Balboa’s team instead.

Reardon had arrived to NCIS in mid-winter, the same week as the shoot-out which sent Special Agent McGee into the hospital, so his introduction to the two remaining members of the team consisted of steering clear of two very dangerous individuals with obvious hair-triggers. He had heard all the stories about the final gun battle and the resulting autopsy results, not knowing what was reality and what was fantasy and unsure who he could ask.

When Agent McGee returned a couple of weeks later with his arm in a sling, Reardon hoped perhaps the tension in the bullpen would ease. His first impression of McGee was of a soft computer geek, uncomfortable with the harsher realities of the job. However, when he was sent to him for help solving a complex computer problem, the green eyes which politely regarded him held an unexpected edge which bespoke of having seen and done things Reardon had yet to imagine and he noticed the suit tightening in spots to reveal hard earned muscle while the fingers flashed across the keyboard to rapidly unravel his puzzle.

It was The Chair, however, which always captivated his imagination. Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo was a palpable presence in the office even though he had been gone for nearly three months by then. The assumedly fallen agent was the elephant in the corner of the room no one dared talk about, especially within earshot of his team, and The Chair was the manifestation of the team’s denial of their loss. Anyone who dared sit in it was aggressively chased off -- if they were lucky, by McGee, if they were unlucky, the former Mossad assassin would not hesitate to straighten anyone out, often with threats at the end of a blade. Even the doddering old coroner, his loopy assistant and the crazy forensic scientist from downstairs were known to have unleashed a substantial amount of fury on the unsuspecting. If Special Agent Gibbs caught someone sitting there, however, all bets were off, all eyes were on the carnage that ensued and few escaped unscathed. 

Reardon gradually learned Gibbs had always been particularly protective of his second in command so, when he disappeared without a trace in the middle of a major joint operation, the Gibbs he had been warned about was a mere shadow of the Gibbs he had to avoid dealing with now. He pitied the TADs who constantly cycled in and out of that team at a furious pace in a futile attempt to round out the positions. It was beyond Reardon how Director Vance tolerated this behavior right under his own toothpick.

His mouth agape at his audacity, Reardon rapidly approached the man reclining in DiNozzo’s seat. “Hi!”

Intense green eyes looked up from the game inquiringly, flashed to either side to ensure he was who Reardon was speaking to then mutely looked directly at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“Uh… Did someone tell you to sit here?” His eyes raked over the man, noting the odd combination of the loosely fitted casual, comfortable apparel, the gold encircling his neck, wrists and crossed ankles and the humbling collection of abrasions and contusions.

The man confidently rasped, “My Boss,” as if that explained everything.

“You must be new here,” Reardon observed.

Slender fingers absently brushed a visitor’s pass attached to his belt, which was half-hidden beneath the hem of his fleece pullover.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you involved with a case?”

The visitor shook his head. “No, I’m just here for the day.”

“Well, you might want to change your seat. No one is supposed to sit there.” He leaned forward to confide, “I’m trying to do you a favor, buddy, no one who’s sat there since I started working here has survived in one piece.”

Two feet frantically swung to the floor as the man paled and sat forward in alarm. “But, my Boss said to sit here.”

Reardon shrugged. “I’m just saying, it won’t go well for you if you’re caught sitting there. We call it ‘The Chair of Death’ for a reason.” Before he could say anything more, a hand caught him by the shoulder and spun him around. 

Snyder’s probie, Wilson, caught him in a steely glare before he stridently advised, “Reardon, you’d better go back to your desk,” Immediately disregarding the other agent, Wilson crouched down in front of the visitor, softening his voice and resting one hand on the man’s knee. “Hi, Tony. I’m Dwayne. How’re ya doing?”

Nervous eyes skittered around the room, pausing for a moment to linger on Dwayne’s badge clipped to his waist before resting on his face. “I’m not supposed to sit here?”

“You can sit here, Tony; it’s your seat. No one else can sit here,” Dwayne corrected gently. “Do you know where Gibbs is?”

He leaned close to hear Tony’s hoarse voice when he promptly answered, “Boss got called to MTAC. He told me to wait for him down here.”

Reardon bristled at Dwayne’s interruption. He had only graduated two classes previous at FLETC, so it wasn’t as if he had any true seniority over him.

“ _I_ was talking to him,” he hissed directly into Wilson’s ear.

The other probationary agent patted the visitor’s knee reassuringly once before standing up to herd Reardon a short distance away. “Do you have any idea who that is, Reardon?”

Reardon looked over Wilson’s shoulder to see the man raptly watching their exchange. “He’s a visitor. I saw his pass. Said he was here for the day.”

“Where the hell have you been? That’s Special Agent Tony DiNozzo, you idiot.”

It was Reardon’s turn to pale. “But, that can’t be him! He’s dead! Besides, he doesn’t even look like an agent.”

“Tell that to the five Marines he rescued when he escaped,” Dwayne retorted under his breath so only Reardon could hear.

“Dwayne, did I do something wrong?” The subject of their debate looked at Wilson with wide, innocent eyes.

Scowling at Reardon in disgust, Dwayne stepped away from him to return to Tony. “Nope. Reardon’s just an idiot. Hey, what game are ya playing on your iPhone? I just got one myself.”

Readily accepting Dwayne at his word, Tony showed him his high score on Tetris then started explaining some of the other games McGee had downloaded onto his phone. 

Reardon watched the exchange in stunned silence as his mind raced. There was no way this could be the vaunted Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo he had heard so much about; this man could hardly move without flinching against his thick layer of padding and appeared to have the mentality of a child, sitting playing video games and needing constant reassurance. Yet, despite the non-stop attention he seemed to be receiving from the astounding number of people passing this area of the room, everyone seemed to be respecting an invisible buffer zone. 

The hairs on the back of Reardon’s neck rose at the sensation of being watched.

A low growl sounded ominously in his ear, so close the hairs were tickled by his breath. “What the HELL do you think you’re doing?”

Reardon jumped and twisted around in alarm to find Special Agent Gibbs, flanked by his team, glaring at him in outrage. With three sets of eyes boring down at him, he faltered. “I… uh…”

“Boss!” Tony croaked brightly behind him. “You’re done in MTAC? Dwayne is showing me some more cool stuff to do with my phone!”

Reardon watched in morbid fascination as Gibbs’ entire persona changed in an instant as he turned to his senior field agent. His body loosened, his eyes softened and a small hint of a smile lit his features. When he approached the two men, Dwayne rose from where he had knelt on one knee beside Tony to readily shake Gibbs’ hand, receiving a clap on the shoulder as well in greeting. Reardon’s jaw dropped. He had heard Dwayne had briefly worked under Gibbs and it had supposedly gone well, but never realized he was on such good terms with the incredibly demanding senior agent. Tony grinned up at his boss, inviting the older man to watch him put his phone through its paces, so Gibbs perched on the edge of the desk, giving DiNozzo his undivided attention.

“Do not think you will get it on so easily,” Gibbs’ probie hissed in his ear.

“Get off,” her partner corrected from his other shoulder.

“I thought it was ‘get it on’? What does that mean?”

McGee bent around Reardon to whisper into Ziva’s ear.

Her eyebrow popped at his explanation. “No, I did not mean that,” she muttered back to him. “But, I thought ‘get off’ meant that…” Ziva tilted her head as McGee whispered into her ear some more. “Oh, right.” She glared at Reardon some more. “You shall not get off so easily.”

“I didn’t really do anything, Dwayne was the one talking to him,” Reardon defended.

McGee began to steer him towards his own team’s cubicles. “We saw enough to know what happened, Reardon. You’re just lucky Tony’s here to keep the boss from doing anything too obvious. You might want to keep out of his way for a while.”

“But, what happened? I didn’t even know he was back! I just thought it was some idiot sitting in his chair.”

McGee’s eyes narrowed. “Well, since you’re so good with the scuttlebutt, Reardon, why don’t you ask around? There are some pretty good stories floating through the office…”

“Some may even be true,” Ziva agreed. “Though the saying goes ‘truth is stranger than friction’, yes?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Ziva beamed proudly.

“Reardon!” Agent Balboa’s voice thundered from the elevator. “You got that paperwork done for the warrants yet?!”

Reardon dove for his desk, scrambling for the proper papers.

With a disapproving frown at his probie, Balboa stepped up to the two teammates. “He giving you any trouble?”

McGee tipped his head towards Tony’s desk where the three men could be seen chatting amiably. “I think we’re all set now.”

With an apologetic grimace, Balboa offered, “Tell Gibbs I’m sorry about that; it won’t happen again. I’ll keep him on a shorter leash. I keep hoping he’ll transfer to the FBI, but no luck yet. Maybe Gibbs could put a good word in for him?”

“Yeah, maybe at Missing Persons – as the victim,” McGee suggested to Balboa’s amusement.

000

  



	18. Chapter 18

  


Tony leaned back into the car seat with a wide grin on his face. Gibbs was back to his usual driving style and Tony was enjoying the way the Challenger hugged the road as Gibbs careened along the Beltway, effortlessly dodging in and out of traffic. Rocketing off their exit, Gibbs slowed when he reached the side streets. As they whizzed along the main drag through town, Tony suddenly sat up.

“Boss!”

Hitting the brakes to slow the vehicle, Gibbs asked, “What?” Ignoring the horns behind him, Gibbs kept one eye on the road and the other on an animated Tony, who was twisted around in his seat belt, craning his neck to look out the back window by now.

“Did you see the cars at that restaurant? There was a Corvette and a Thunderbird and a Barracuda…”

“You wanna go check them out?”

“Could we?” Tony just about bounced back into the seat, his smile wide, his eyes sparkling.

Gibbs gave him a manic smile and said, “Hang on!” 

Tony grabbed any available surface and gave a happy whoop as Gibbs whipped the Challenger into a 180 and drove back the way they came.

When they reached the vintage drive-in restaurant, Gibbs was impressed with the small collection of classic cars parked in front. His own car received more than a few appreciative smiles as it pulled in next to a call button. Once the carhop had rolled over to take their order, Tony and Gibbs wandered over to where several men were admiring the cars. They peeked under the hoods, showed off the Challenger and enjoyed car talk until their order appeared on the tray which had been carefully hung on Gibbs’ window.

Gibbs was relieved to see Tony eat an entire small cheeseburger, fries and a shake between all the happy car chatter. He had found early on Tony would eat more if he was distracted and had used that tactic with movies and other diversions as much as possible. By the time he escaped, Tony had lost a considerable amount of weight with his exercise regimen and his stringently controlled intake of healthy, unprocessed foods. Gibbs had always known Tony had the metabolism of a hummingbird with his non-stop snacking on candy and greasy foods rarely putting a pound on him unless he truly overindulged. Just as with his team’s other foibles, the team leader tended to tolerate Tony’s incessant nibbling if it made him more productive, despite Ducky’s constant harping about DiNozzo’s nutritional choices. 

Since his return, after months of aversion training and the damage to his throat making him extremely hesitant to swallow, getting Tony to eat was a struggle. Following Ducky and Brad’s advice, Gibbs had been plying Tony with food since he came home, making sure he always had plenty of easily swallowed and digested food handy, even stuffing snacks into his backpack that morning and making sure he had at least a few over the course of the day. While he didn’t look forward to Ducky seeing this page of Tony’s food diary, he was pretty sure Tony had consumed more calories today than any day since his return. In two days, Gibbs knew Gerald would be taking Tony in to see Brad and wanted to be sure he showed signs of improvement.

Noisily draining his drink as they sat in the car, Tony looked inquisitively at his boss. “Boss, do you think we could go to the car show they were talking about?”

“Don’t see why not,” Gibbs noted. “Unless we catch a case, I’m off that weekend.” Watching Tony closely, he warned, “It might be crowded.” 

Tony’s eyes wandered over the other cars in the parking lot as he contemplated Gibbs’ observation, before noting softly, “I’d really like to go… I’ll have my collar on and you’ll be there…” He shrugged as his gaze returned to Gibbs. “I guess I gotta get used to it sometime.” Tony brightened at the gleam of approval in Gibbs’ eyes. “Could we take the cars, Boss?”

Gibbs eyebrows rose in surprise. “Both cars? How would we get yours to the show?”

Tony played with the straw as he hesitantly suggested, “Maybe McGee could drive it.”

“You’d be okay with McGee driving your car?”

Tony rounded on Gibbs with a serious expression. “Boss,” he stated matter-of-factly. “Have you ever ridden with McGee? He drives like Miss Daisy.”

Turning into the steering wheel to hide his smile, Gibbs shrugged his acquiescence. “Okay, we’ll talk about it.”

000

While a new day dawned, the soft tinkling of the piano gently wound throughout the house. Drowsily enjoying the melody, Jethro contentedly stretched under the covers as he slowly awoke to the sounds of birds chirping their accompaniment in the open window. A gentle breeze luffed the curtains, pushing cool air into the room despite the growing warmth of a late spring day. Gibbs shifted, feeling for the warm body beside him only to find the bed empty. He could smell the flowery fragrance on the pillow next to him, feel the still cooling sheets.

“Shannon?” he blearily enquired as he sat up and tried to get his bearings. Looking at the clock, Jethro fondly shook his head and climbed out of bed. He sleepily padded out of the bedroom and down the stairs, seeking the source of the delicate music. “Kelly, what are ya doing up so early, Punkin’?”

Turning the corner into the den, Gibbs stopped short when his sleep-clotted eyes cleared and he saw Tony sitting captivated over the upright piano in the corner, swaying as he played Mozart with his eyes closed. Everything came rushing back in a kaleidoscope of memories as Jethro’s mind reeled into the present. He stood stock still in the doorway for several heartbeats until his reverie was abruptly broken by a discordant bang sounding in front of him.

His left elbow on the keys, Tony looked as shell-shocked as Gibbs felt. “I… I’m s-s-sorry, Boss! I… um… I won’t play it again! I thought…” he stammered as he slid to his knees with a thud.

Springing into action, Gibbs intercepted him before he bowed any lower. “Hey! No, it’s okay! Come on, sit back up here.” He swore under his breath as he encouraged Tony back onto the piano bench. “It was beautiful, Tony. You just caught me off guard. I thought…”

“That I was Kelly? Or Shannon?” Tony asked guilelessly.

Crouched in front of him and holding him tight by both biceps, Gibbs scrutinized Tony in astonishment. “You remember them?”

Tony dropped his eyes in mortification as he shook his head. “I’m sorry, Boss. You talk about them in your sleep sometimes, so I figured…”

“It’s okay, DiNozzo. You didn’t know them; you knew about them.” Gibbs bowed his head. He knew, especially when he was stressed, he would dream about them and occasionally speak their names in his sleep; his second marriage dissolved in just a few short months when he couldn’t stop saying the two names out loud nor bring himself to explain who they were to his suspicious bride and she retaliated with an affair while he was stationed as Agent Afloat for three months. “Shannon was my first wife and Kelly was our little girl.” Gibbs explained evenly. “I’ll dig out some pictures of them to show you some time. When Kelly was seven, Shannon witnessed a murder. They were killed in a car accident when the dirtbag tried to keep her from testifying while I was serving in Desert Storm. It’s why I work for NCIS now.”

Tony’s eyes softened with pain. “Boss… I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, Tony.”

“Yeah, but it must be painful being reminded of them.”

Gibbs considered his words for a long moment before clapping Tony on the shoulder as he answered, “You know, I used to feel that way but I’ve learned there’s nothing I can do except appreciate the time I had with them and make the most of the time I have with the special people in my life now.”

Tony perked up. “Does that mean you think I’m special, Boss?”

“You’re about as special as they come, DiNozzo…” he replied with an amused grin. “Remind me to ask Palmer to tune the piano when he gets a chance.”

“On it, Boss!”

000

“Hi, Abby. I’ve got something for ya,” Special Agent Snyder reported as he trotted into forensics with a crate full of evidence. “Oh… Uh… Hi, Tony! It’s good to see you,” he added when he noticed the former agent perched at the counter next to her, feeding fingerprint samples into Abby’s Live Scan reader.

Abby bounded over to her new visitor. “Whatcha got for me, Dan?” She peered curiously into the crate as she signed for the chain of evidence.

The agent pointedly glanced across to Tony, who met his eyes for just a moment with a shy smile before turning back to his work. “What’s he doing here?” he asked sotto voce, looking back at her in time to see his mistake when the forensic scientist crossed her arms and shifted her weight to protectively shield the injured agent.

“He can probably hear you, or did you forget that, Not So Special Agent Snyder?” she asked icily. “Not that it’s any of your business but for your information, Tony will be coming to work with Bossman on Fridays for the next couple of weeks. Gibbs had to pick up a suspect, so he’s down here with me for a while.”

“I’m sorry, Abby. I didn’t mean anything by it but I’m not sure he should be down here.”

The pigtailed Goth bristled. “Why not?” she gritted out.

The agent flinched under her wrath but stuck to his guns, gesturing towards the crate of evidence. He leaned close and beckoned her towards him. “It’s a kidnapping and torture murder case,” he whispered while watching the other agent over her shoulder for any reaction.

Abby shot upright with a gasp. “Do I even want to know what’s in here?” She tentatively peeked at the contents of a few of the bags, her heart dropping as she came across shreds of duct tape, lengths of rope and bloody rags.

“Abby? You okay?”

The Goth whirled in place to find Tony behind her, watching her with a slight frown. “Yeah, Tony, I’m fine.” Granting him a warm smile, she shoved the bags back into the crate, covering it with the paperwork. She directed a grateful glance towards Snyder when she saw him surreptitiously slip his suit jacket off and casually drape it over everything. “Um… Tony, Gibbs is in interrogation right now but he told me he should be done soon. I have a few things I need to do right now; can you go up to the bullpen and wait for him there?”

“You sure you don’t want me to finish those? They’re almost done,” he offered hopefully.

“I’ll get the rest while Major Mass Spec is running this evidence.” Resting her hands on his shoulders, she pecked him on the cheek and took the time to search his face for a long moment until she was satisfied he wasn’t put off by being sent away. “Thanks for all your help.”

He smiled at her bashfully. “Anytime. Thanks for letting me hang out with you, Abs.” 

“Can you find your way upstairs?”

“Yeah. I’m fine.” Retrieving a few bottles of water from the stash in Abby’s refrigerator, Tony grabbed his backpack and scooped up his phone from the counter then turned to go, only to run into Abby, who had solidly planted herself in his path with her arms akimbo. Furrowing his brow for a moment to figure out what caught her attention, he bit his lower lip before sheepishly adding, “Really!”

“All right, Mister, if you say so. I’ll see you at Gibbs’ for dinner. Tell him I’ll bring the Red Bull.”

He grimaced good-naturedly at the mention of the energy drink as he scooted past her. “See ya!”

Abby grinned and bounced back to her work table. “Okay, Dan, let’s see what we’ve got!”

000

Clicking on his phone, Tony pulled up _Bejeweled_ and started playing the game as he waited patiently for the elevator. The games McGee had loaded onto his phone and odd jobs Abby and Ducky found for him were a welcome distraction; he felt so out of place in the building, it was a relief to mindlessly immerse himself in something now that he was starting to feel better. Even when he visited with the people he had come to know, he could feel the undercurrent of cautious awkwardness they all tried to hide in his presence. Tony felt almost like an imposter with his screwed up memory and inability to really help work in a meaningful way. He appreciated the team’s encouragement and support – he couldn’t imagine how he would have coped otherwise.

After watching the elevator sit in one spot for over ten minutes, Tony gave up, deciding to try the stairs instead. Concentrating on the game, he wandered up the stairs, occasionally getting his bearings as the next level of the game loaded. Reaching what he thought was the correct floor, he paused the game only to find himself in unfamiliar surroundings. Watching both ways, he waited a moment by the door, hoping someone would pass through the deserted hallway but found himself alone. Looking between the stairs and hallway indecisively, he opted for the stairs, heading down a couple levels to find a familiar landmark.

The next level he stepped out into was deserted as well. He sighed and hefted his backpack as he ventured into the winding hall, starting up his game again when it beeped insistently at him. He knew he couldn’t really get lost in the building – everyone seemed to know who he was and his Boss never let him remain out of his sight for very long. The phone was a comforting weight in his hands, his fingers smoothed the visitor's tag at his waist, drifted to his collar then back to the game as he turned another corner.

Glancing up, Tony did a double-take. A door clearly said _‘Interrogation 1’_. Wasn’t this where Abby said Gibbs was? Sighing in relief at his luck, he opened the door and quietly slipped in to find a man staring at him from where he sat alone at a metal table.

“Oh, sorry. I must have the wrong room,” Tony apologized as he turned to go. His heart started to pound as the knob refused to turn. “What?” He looked over his shoulder in alarm. “This is locked?”

The man winced when he heard Tony’s hoarse voice. “Yeah. It isn’t gonna open. I already tried.”

Tony worried his lip as he pressed his hands against the unyielding door. He tried to quell the panic that began to rise – he still had major issues with closed doors and anything which didn’t open right away. Abby’s lab was never a problem because she left the door to the outer lab open all the time. At home, Gibbs also had made a habit of leaving doors ajar since the first day and the open floor plan of the bullpen seemed to help. The negative pressure doors in Autopsy still put Tony’s teeth on edge, but he noticed Ducky or Jimmy hurry to flip the switch off whenever he was down there when they could.

“If it helps, they should be back soon. I’ve been sitting here forever,” the man drawled behind him. The prisoner looked curiously at the tall newcomer, wondering if this was some kind of trick. He had been sitting in Interrogation much of the day, only occasionally being treated to another round of questions by Agent Balboa or one of his team.

Concentrating on his breathing exercises, Tony turned around to lean his shoulders against the wall and uncertainly survey the small room. The interrogation room was just like in the movies. A one-way mirror monopolized one wall, with the other three walls devoid of decoration except for highset cameras mounted in strategic locations. In the middle of the room, a table was bolted to the floor with a chair on either side. 

The man leaning back in the chair was relatively unremarkable. Pale eyes curiously watched Tony from under a shock of military regulation cut dark hair. He wasn’t wearing a uniform but was, instead, dressed much like Tony: jeans, sneakers, lightweight hoodie. If he stood, he would undoubtedly be shorter than Tony by several inches but had a sturdy, muscular build, which spoke of a life of hard labor.

The man narrowed his eyes speculatively; the newcomer didn’t look like an agent. He was quite thin for his frame, yet muscular and deeply tanned with straight light golden brown hair which nearly reached his shoulders. His movements were careful, possibly a little stiff as if he couldn’t quite trust his own body. The man’s voice was soft with a painful, raspy, almost breathless quality to it and, while he obviously wasn’t as young as he looked at first glance, he held an ageless grace about him along with a peculiarly unique innocence. When he turned his gaze in his direction, the prisoner could see the remarkably clear green eyes with a wide, guileless, yet soulful expression in a face with still fading bruises. The newcomer wore a visitor’s pass clipped to his belt and, as if only to add to the enigma, a jeweled gold collar snugly around his throat just below an impressive still-healing scar.

Nodding at Tony’s pass, the man grinned. “Visitor, hunh? Take a wrong turn?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Tony admitted as he pushed off from the wall and gingerly slid into the seat across from the man. “I thought my Boss was here.”

“In Interrogation?”

Tony simply shrugged. He rummaged in his backpack, pulled out a bottle of water and mutely offered it to the prisoner, who accepted it with a smile, and then pulled another one out for himself. He waved a box of raisins at him, noting his refusal without offense, before opening the box and popping a couple into his mouth. “I’m Tony.”

“Yeah, I see from your pass. Name’s Mike.” His shackled hands came as one when he shook Tony’s hand. His eyes inquisitively followed Tony’s matching gold bracelets before he awkwardly opened the bottle then toasted Tony with the cool water.

Tony noticed the handcuffs with surprise then dismissed them with an unconscious shrug. “Why are you here?”

Mike shook his head. “They think I did something, but there’s no way they have anything on me!”

“What do they think you did?” Tony asked curiously as he played with his phone.

“Kill somebody.”

The phone stilled. “Did you?”

The chair legs slammed to the floor as Mike leaned in to him, his eyes flat. “No! I didn’t!” Relaxing his posture, he rocked back until his head rested against the wall again. “Not that I’d tell you anyways.”

“Did you tell them that?”

“Yeah, but they didn’t believe me. Something about carpet fibers and stuff. Hell, they don’t even have a body!”

“So, why do they think you killed someone?” Tony was genuinely intrigued by now. Even as he dedicated enough attention to the ongoing game to go for McGee’s high score, his mind was working overtime, absorbing and examining his conversation with Mike.

“My bunkmate has been UA for two weeks, ever since we were in a fight on base.”

“What was the fight about?”

Mike wiped his face then vigorously scrubbed his scalp with both hands before admitting, “A girl.”

Tony looked up from the game. “There’s always a girl.” He grinned, encouraging him to continue.

“Not just any girl. My girl. He broke up with her months ago and said he didn’t mind if I took a shot at her.”

“You know, your story kinda reminds me of a movie…”

000

Gibbs tore through the bullpen in a rage. “What do you mean, he’s missing?” He turned to the handwringing Goth nervously shadowing him. “Where did you last see him?”

“He was in my lab but then Snyder brought me some really bad stuff you seriously don’t want Tony seeing and so I sent him up here and he said he could find the bullpen himself and it’s easy to find the bullpen from the labs so I let him and then he never showed up and he’s not answering his phone and I’m so soooooo sorry, Gibbs. I’ll find him! I swear it! I know he hasn’t left the building, so how lost can he be, really?! And everyone here loves Tony. Plus, I have forensics on my side!” She vibrated where she stood, her pleading eyes wide.

“Don’t ask me for a puppy any time soon,” Gibbs growled with a warning glare.

“Bossman, I will find him, you know. I’m the one who lost him, I’ll find him…” She busily rushed past McGee and Ziva, who were both standing at their desks, their phones pressed to their ears as they coordinated a search of the building.

When his phone rang, the former Marine flipped it open violently. “GIBBS!” he barked, raising startled heads from where they had hidden behind cubicles throughout the squad room. “Where?! Is he okay?” His voice dropped several decibels as he ruffled his hair in relief. “Keep an eye on him, I’ll be right down. If he’s safe where he is, let me handle it. Mah-Gee, Ziver, call off the hounds. I’ll be in Interrogation.”

“Interrogation, Boss?”

“Yeah. DiNozzo’s interviewing a suspect.”

000

  



	19. Chapter 19

  


Gibbs arrived to find Balboa’s probie nervously waiting for him, looking as if he had just been led to his slaughter. His eyes wide with fear-filled awe, he chucked a thumb towards the observation room. “Special Agent Balboa suggested you come in here first, sir.”

“Where is he?”

“In here, sir.”

“I mean DiNozzo,” Gibbs corrected tersely as he glowered at the ‘sir’.

“Oh, he’s next door in _I1_ , sir.”

“DON’T call me sir, Agent…”

“Reardon, sir.” The man flinched. “Sorry, sir— Uh, I mean…”

“Agent Gibbs, Reardon.”

“Yes, sir, Agent Gibbs.” He paled. “You aren’t going to hit me, are you, Agent Gibbs?”

The lead agent sighed and barreled past the bumbling probie. He didn’t have time for this – he was just glad Reardon wasn’t one of his – either his hand or the man’s head would never survive.

Gibbs entered the observation room to find Balboa lounging against the window frame with a Cheshire Cat grin radiating across his face. With a bob of his head, he directed Gibbs’ attention towards the action on the other side of the glass. Gibbs’ missing agent was lounging in a chair, playing a game on his cell phone and snacking on a cup of cinnamon applesauce with a small pyramid of empty raisin boxes next to it; across from him, the suspect had his chair leaning against the wall, swinging his legs and awkwardly eating out of the chocolate pudding cup he held in his joined hands as he was telling Tony about his girlfriend and why he not only would but could forgive her for cheating on him with his best friend. Tony would occasionally nod or grunt in reply and once, while Gibbs watched, Tony tipped his head to ask a simple question which brought the essentially one-sided conversation back on track, but the majority of noise in the room was the man’s ongoing monologue.

“He admitted to everything,” Balboa crowed excitedly. “He claims it was accidental – we’ll let Ducky decide that once we find the body. We even got the drop location. Rollock and Chase are checking it out now.”

Not taking his eyes from the window, Gibbs shook his head bemusedly. “What the hell happened?”

Balboa chuckled. “I guess Saunders left Petty Officer Scott locked in while he went to look for Tony and Tony got locked in with Scott when he went looking for you. Kurt would have caught Tony when he locked himself in, but he took a coffee run shortly after Saunders left and didn’t get back until about five minutes ago when we showed up to have another go at Scott. The tape was running – we got everything.”

“Have you let Tony know you’re here?” Gibbs closely watched Tony’s body language. Knowing some of his triggers, the lead agent was worried but Tony seemed to be dealing with the situation better than expected. “Kurt, gimme a copy of those tapes?”

“Already cued a copy for you, Agent Gibbs. I should have it on your desk within the hour.” He turned an apologetic grimace at the man. “I’m really sorry I wasn’t here to catch him earlier.”

“Don’t worry about it – just don’t let it happen again. As it is, Balboa’s gonna have a fun time explaining this one to Legal…”

Coming out of the observation room, Gibbs found Reardon and Saunders standing in front of the door to _Interrogation 1_. Saunders ducked his head at the sight of the lead agent and muttered his apologies as he slunk out of the way. Ignoring the probie entirely, Gibbs tersely nodded in answer to the guard before drawing himself up to knock lightly.

“Come in,” Tony’s soft answer could barely be heard through the door. He snapped to his feet when he saw who entered. “Boss!” His voice cracked in excitement before he remembered his predicament. With one hand resting on the table for balance, Tony bowed his head and muttered, “Sorry I got lost, Boss. I took the stairs and got turned around.”

“It’s okay, DiNozzo. I’m just glad we found you safe. Abby’s got some explaining to do.”

Tony met his eyes in alarm. “It’s not Abby’s fault, Boss! I told her I could do it by myself.”

Unwilling to concede the point, Tony’s boss needed to know. “Why wasn’t your phone turned on?”

“The sign down the hall said to turn it off beyond that point, so I had to put it into airplane mode. I still had my pass and my collar on.”

Thoughtfully kneading Tony’s shoulder with one hand, Gibbs considered his man for several long beats, a ghost of a smile on his face. “I’d hate to have to rely on those to keep track of you. Let’s get you upstairs before Ziva threatens anyone else with bodily injury.”

Intrigued, Petty Officer Scott watched the exchange raptly. The older man, Tony’s boss, looked impressively hard-assed – likely an agent – and the guard at the door hastily deferred to him, but he was especially gentle with the apparently fragile younger man. Scott was just glad he had quelled any impulse to take his frustrations out on Tony. Even without the mention of the threatening Ziva, whoever that was, he now knew he would have paid dearly for any harm, real or imagined, which befell Tony in his presence. Nothing could have prepared Petty Officer Mike Scott for what happened next.

A blur of red and black flew into the room, squealing Tony’s name the entire time and latching onto the man with such force even the quick thinking of the silver haired agent didn’t spare him from rocking several steps backwards with a pained gasp. “Tony, you’re safe! I was sooooo worried!” The Goth buried her face into his chest for another breath-stealing hug before leaning back to look into his eyes. “You’re okay, right?” Off his embarrassed nod she hugged tighter again. “I’m so sorry I didn’t go with you.”

“I’m fine. Don’t feel bad, okay? It isn’t your fault.” He kissed the top of her head. “Boss forgives you, right, Boss?” He gave the man a slightly cheeky grin which was rewarded by a flash of amusement in the older man’s eyes as the Goth apologetically chewed on her cheek while looking hopefully at him.

The prisoner glanced from the Goth to Tony then back again as the older agent herded the two of them out into the hallway. The woman, he guessed the guilty Abby, was very similar to, yet the polar opposite of, Tony. Both were tall, slender, green-eyed, yet she was as pale as he was tanned, as dark as he was golden, as loud as he was quiet, one wore glossy black leather while the other wore glittering gold. Yin and Yang. The very conservative silver-haired man with them mystified Scott even more since he didn’t fit at all but seemed to complete the picture. 

When Balboa came in a few minutes later to thrust a confession in front of him, he had only one pressing question. “Exactly what kind of boss is he?”

000

Abby snuggled into Tony’s side contentedly. As a peace offering, she had brought dinner after work and they were well on their way through the first movie of the evening. Since it was Friday, Gibbs had grudgingly allowed for a double feature movie night, knowing Tony wouldn’t last through more than that once he took his last dose of meds. Gibbs mellowed out on his recliner, lazily enjoying the film, while the two younger people cuddled on the couch under the fleece blanket. Their shoes had long ago been kicked off and Abby’s ponytails were out, having fallen victim to some roughhousing she had instigated. As usual, Abby had been in charge of choosing movies appropriate for Tony with enough action to satisfy Gibbs. In the past few weeks, she had visited often, bringing a variety of food to tempt both men and happily sorting through Tony’s DVD collection for after dinner entertainment.

Once the movie ended with the destruction of the mothership and the heroes’ safe, cigar-chomping return to Earth, Gibbs crawled out of his chair to beat Abby to the DVD player. Raising an eyebrow at her second selection of the evening, he cued up the DVD and trotted into the kitchen to pop some more popcorn. Ducky had finally allowed Tony that simple treat so long as there was plenty of butter to help it slide down his abused throat. Gibbs was of the opinion that a movie couldn’t be properly enjoyed without it, so he was happy to keep the bowls filled. While the popcorn popper whirred loudly, he rummaged through the refrigerator for a stick of butter and more cold drinks for everyone, keeping one eye on the screen as he worked so he’d see when the previews finished and the feature began.

A sudden rustling thud in the living room spun him around in time to see Tony frantically dash from the room in a blind panic with a strangled whimper. Abby jumped up from where she had landed, tangled in the blanket on the floor, to follow him.

“Tony! Gibbs, I don’t know what happened but—“ followed him through the house towards the sounds of uncontrollable retching.

Gibbs raced to the bathroom to find Tony on his knees, sobbing hysterically and vomiting into the toilet bowl. Gibbs crouched down next to him to reassure him only to be violently thrust backwards by a forearm to the gut as Tony senselessly skittered away from him, falling awkwardly into the tub and yanking the shower curtain down on top of him in his haste to escape.

“No!” he begged. “Please…” His gasps for breath strangled his voice.

While Tony incoherently curled into a fetal position in the tub, his arms hugging his trembling body tightly as he wheezed through wracking sobs, Gibbs followed him, straddling the curtain rod to sit back on his haunches directly behind him, his hands balancing his body to either side of the distressed man. He waved Abby back, waiting until she acquiesced before addressing him.

“Tony? What’s wrong?”

He saw a barely perceptible shake of the head amidst the quivering. Tony drew a shuddering breath, closed his eyes and withdrew further.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Tony tightened his grip on his biceps and began to rock ever so slightly. 

“Did you remember something?”

Silence. Gibbs bowed his head in frustration.

“Do you want to talk with Abby?”

Another, more insistent shake.

“How about Ducky? Think he can help?”

A shake transformed halfway into an uncertain nod. Gibbs met Abby’s red-rimmed eyes and signed for her to make the call. He could hear her speak quietly in the next room before reappearing at the doorway. Looking up, he saw her sign _–Ducky is on his way-._

_-What did he see?-_

_-I don’t know. It was just a preview.-_

_-For what?-_

_-A cartoon comedy._ Madagascar.-

_-???-_

_-It’s about some zoo animals from New York who go to Madagascar. It’s really funny.-_

_-Could the cages have upset him?-_

_-They didn’t really show any.-_

Gibbs frowned. Tony’s breathing had settled a bit but he still flinched whenever Gibbs’ signs waved into his peripheral vision. Whatever it was, it had upset him deeply.

_-What does it show?-_

_-I don’t know. Lots of stuff.-_

_-Like?-_

Abby silently snorted and screwed her lips to one side in aggravation. She looked up to the ceiling in thought before signing _–a lion, a zebra, a giraffe, a hippo, a few penguins, lots of singing lemurs and fossa-_

_-I doubt it was any of that. What else?-_

_-I think you’re going to have to see it, Gibbs. Maybe you can pick out what it was.-_

They lingered in silence until, finally, the sound of the back door opening drew Abby’s attention down the hall. With a wave, she disappeared only to return moments later with the elderly medical examiner.

Ducky took one look at the scene in front of him before taking charge. “Oh, my dear boy, what has you so bothered?” he asked soothingly. When Tony gave no sign of hearing him, he turned to Gibbs to instruct, “Jethro, would you please put the tea kettle on? Abigail can help you while Anthony and I have a little chat. And, do close the door behind you?”

Fighting his instincts to stay, Gibbs grudgingly took Ducky’s offered hand up and climbed out of the tub. His old friend sympathetically patted him on the back as he left the room before turning to the huddled body in the tub.

Steering a recalcitrant Abby into the living room, Gibbs snatched up the control, and, handing it to her, directed, “Lemme see the preview.” 

Abby reversed the DVD, searching for the correct preview before settling on the beginning of the one she believed caused Tony’s reaction. Clicking play, the two of them watched the TV intently, looking for a clue. As a scene of the animals in crates on a boat flashed across the screen, Gibbs swore lustily. Her nerves so frayed by the evening’s events, Abby visibly jumped, her eyes widening at the unexpected invectives he hurled around the room.

“Damn it!” Gibbs looked desperately for something to hit. Not seeing anything handy, he balled his fists at his sides, vibrating with fury. What he really needed to do was burn a boat -- that was always particularly cleansing…

“What was it?”

“Atlas! The damn Atlas case. Remember it?”

Abby didn’t need much time to search her memory before settling on the case. The juicy bodies were hard to forget and, even more so, the hours Tony remained missing at the height of the case, with his cell phone sitting on her bench in an evidence bag, would never leave her memory.

“The sewer?”

“Yeah. A few days after he came home, Tony mentioned something about Atlas but he wasn’t clear on what it was. He was sent to Bouvier locked in a shipping container on a ship, just like the women in the Atlas case.” He shook his head as his mind conjured up the disturbing images of what it must have been like.

“Oh my god,” Abby intoned with a devastated glance down the hall. She sidled into Gibbs’ arms, needing the contact.

“Do you think he remembers that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. It would explain his reaction.”

“Gibbs, is he going to be all right?”

He held her firmly, inhaling her odd gunpowder perfume as he breathed deeply of her scent, basking in the comfort they exchanged. “I hope so, Abs.”

The whistling teapot broke their embrace as Abby rushed to silence it before it disturbed whatever was going on in the bathroom. A moment later, the door slowly opened and Ducky emerged to contemplatively beckon Gibbs with a crook of his finger. Abby reluctantly hung back as the senior agent rushed to the bathroom, pausing to square his shoulders before entering. A moment later, the two men trundled a limp Tony to bed, silently returning down the stairs after a brief delay.

By the time they reached the kitchen, Abby had a fresh pot of coffee ready and Ducky’s tea steeping. Uncharacteristically mute, Ducky pensively fiddled with the tea bag as he organized his thoughts, mindful of the two sets of eyes watching his every move.

He turned liquid blue eyes towards them, the pain evident in his face. “Anthony has had a bit of a shock tonight. While he was able to communicate something of what was troubling him, I admit I’m still a bit befuddled.”

Gibbs sighed and, with Abby’s help, thoroughly explained what had happened, eliciting an infuriated chuff from the older man as the pieces fell into place.

“Those bastards – may they rot in hell,” he uttered fiercely as he bowed his head to study the bottom of his teacup. 

“Did you have to sedate him, Duck?”

“Honestly, the poor lad simply collapsed from the stress. With him this distressed, when we put him to bed I felt it prudent to give him a little something to ensure he sleeps the night.”

“I didn’t mean to upset him. I mean, it was just a preview! How could I have known a preview for a cartoon could do this? Tony knows I didn’t mean to—“ 

Abby’s eyes filled as she remembered Tony bringing her to see this movie with the Sisters shortly after Kate had been killed. They had all piled into the Sisters’ van and descended on a midday matinee with enough popcorn and candy to satisfy even Sister Rosita’s sweet tooth. Afterwards, Tony treated them out to a small roadside restaurant with its own ice cream stand, where they had bellied up to the make your own sundae bar and then danced to the jukebox until the Sisters had to get home in time for Vespers. It was probably the first time Abby had truly relaxed since Tony was stricken with the Plague and she considered it something of a turning point as her life settled into a new cadence without Kate in it.

“Abigail,” Ducky laid his hands across the table, palms up, inviting her to clasp them. Once she raised her clenched hands to his and timidly met his eyes, he continued, “We cannot know what will spur a memory, it is a very nebulous thing. In Jethro’s case, it was as simple as a headslap. It is obviously not quite as simple in Anthony’s case. The good thing is that this episode happened at home amongst people who love him. Anthony adores you – he won’t be mad. He has nothing to be mad about!”

“I just feel so bad for him.”

“We all do, Abs.”

“Yes, well, I think we need to keep in mind the possible psychological fallout from these memories. Up to this point, his mind has blocked out everything but his new reality to protect him, so it has gone along with all this simply being his difficult lot in life. Now, with the resurgence of his memory, he has to deal with the horrors he was thrust into. If he hasn’t had much in the way of nightmares up to now, I would anticipate that will change.”

“He’s had some, Duck, but I’ve usually been able to calm him down before he woke up.”

“That’s reassuring, but more should be expected. All we can do is continue to support him. After the last disaster with a psychiatrist, I’m a little reticent of going down that route again but he most certainly needs expert help. Perhaps Brad has someone he can see.” Ducky stifled a small yawn and glanced down at his watch. “My goodness, after all the excitement, the evening has flown by.”

“Duck, did you bring an overnight bag?”

“Yes. I’ve been keeping one in my Morgan. Why don’t I check on Anthony one more time before bed? I assume the guest room is available?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Duck. Abs, if you’d like to stay, the blankets and pillows are still next to the couch in the study,” Gibbs invited.

Exhausted from the night’s events, the Goth jumped up and rounded the table to grant each man a peck on the cheek before grabbing a small black bag and disappearing into the aforementioned room.

Once she was gone and Ducky had ventured upstairs to check on Tony, Gibbs gathered up the dishes and took his time going through the familiar motions of washing them and placing them in the drainer for the night before following the doctor upstairs. He found Ducky taking some notes next to his patient. Tony slept just as they had left him, flat on his back with the cannula running. His pale face was slack and dreamless, making Gibbs’ gut wrench. Once the doctor was satisfied and had said his good nights, Gibbs prepared for bed. He climbed in next to his agent before slipping one arm under his shoulders and gathering him onto his side, leaning against him the way he preferred. 

Holding Tony close, Gibbs’ mind whirled with thoughts of the Atlas case. Memories of how certain Tony had been that Gibbs would come save them taunted him relentlessly, memories of how Tony was always so confident Gibbs would save him when trouble came calling, and memories of how, when it really mattered, his boss didn’t; not even saving him when he found him, half a world away. Sleep eluded Gibbs as memories of how he had let him down and Tony had to save himself accused him through the night…

000

  



	20. Chapter 20

  


Gibbs awoke from a tormented half-sleep feeling somewhat grumpy and out of sorts until he felt the slight tug of a hand tightly clenching his shirt and saw Tony trustingly snuggled to his chest. Taking the chance to repetitively smooth the silken mop of hair, he felt his body relax as he watched Tony sleep. He noticed, even as he took comfort from the peaceful moment and rhythmic motion, Tony’s hand loosened its grip with a soft sigh of contentment. Gibbs had noticed as the drugs wore off over the past several hours that Tony had increasingly latched onto him in a manner reminiscent of his first few days at home. He hoped he was up to whatever Tony needed today in his sleep deprived state.

The lead agent tensed when he heard a car pull into his driveway, wondering who it could be. A quick glance at the clock showed it was still quite early. He could hear the back door slowly open then the sound of Abby’s sleepy voice greeting the newcomer. Jimmy Palmer’s soft voice floated up the stairs. A few minutes later, the aroma of fresh coffee and cinnamon wended its way through the house. Despite himself, Gibbs’ stomach growled in anticipation, causing the body nestled against him to sluggishly shift in response. 

Tony’s head bobbed on Gibbs’ chest then settled again before he tilted his head towards his superior to meet his gaze with heavy eyes. Gibbs held his breath when he saw the raw emotions flickering in Tony’s eyes before he averted them to snuggle tightly against his mentor. Gibbs continued to lightly stroke his head and shoulders as an occasional tremor coursed through Tony’s body. 

A moment later, Ducky poked his head in, nodding in inquiry. Gibbs replied with an uncertain grimace. 

“Tony, Ducky’s here. He’d like to check you out.”

Tony was tucked so deep into Gibbs’ side, he could barely see Tony’s eyes spare a quick sideways glance before closing again. Tony gave a brief nod of permission while he loosened his grip on Gibbs. The older man raised his eyebrows in invitation as the doctor came in to place his bag on the nightstand.

“Did you sleep well, Anthony?” Ducky bent low to see Tony’s face where it was partially hidden behind Gibbs.

Haunted green eyes opened to consider him before allowing the barest of nods.

“How are you feeling this morning?”

A lethargic shrug was his only reply.

Ducky stood up to exchange a long, thoughtful gaze with Gibbs. He watched the older man protectively hold his patient as Tony timorously curled against him.

“Anthony, may I see your eyes?” Ducky was pleased to see Tony struggle into a half-sitting position and trustingly look at him. Holding his chin, the doctor noticed the wavering gaze under a slight glaze. “My goodness, the medication doesn’t appear to have released its grip on you yet. Still a little below par?”

Tony nodded carefully while his hands gripped the sheets for balance.

“Here, tongue up. Good.” He slipped the thermometer in while he uncurled the blood pressure cuff.

With a nod, Gibbs helped Tony scoot back while Ducky piled pillows behind him to help support him in place. Once he was confident his patient was secure, Ducky took his blood pressure and thoroughly assessed him. He was troubled by Tony’s silence and grew more concerned as Tony’s lassitude continued despite both men’s gentle prods. Once done with the exam, Ducky neatly stowed his equipment in his bag and drew the blanket to Tony’s chest before crooking a finger at Gibbs as he drifted to a corner of the bedroom.

A few minutes later, Gibbs descended the stairs to find Abby and Jimmy talking in hushed tones at the kitchen counter. 

Pausing from frosting the fresh cinnamon rolls in front of her, Abby chewed on her lip fretfully as she waited for Gibbs to join them. As he drew near, she rounded the counter to slip into his arms. “Gibbs, how is he?”

Gibbs’ face twisted in frustration. “Not talking. Duck says he should probably stay in bed today.”

“But, Gibbs! Is it really that bad? Can I see him?”

“Yeah, but don’t pressure him. Not even to talk. Ducky thinks he just needs to process it.”

“Agent Gibbs, he remembered something?”

Gibbs shrugged. “As far as we can tell, yeah. He didn’t tell Duck much last night and he’s not talking now, so we don’t know what or how much.”

“Is there anything we can do?”

“Ducky says to just give him time.” Gibbs gloomily shook his head as his gaze drifted to where the stairs disappeared into the second floor.

000

Brad Pitt stepped away from his patient with a sigh. As soon as he finished with the exam, Tony coiled back into the position Brad found him in when he arrived, huddled in a ball under the fleece blanket, his face tucked into the arm of the couch. Tony hadn’t spoken a word all weekend as his fugue seemingly spiraled out of control. By now, even Gibbs was having difficulty getting any sort of response out of Tony and it typically required a barked command to get even the barest rise out of him. In desperation, Ducky had called Brad the evening before and arranged for him to make a house call before his shift on Monday.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Gibbs. You know my first recommendation would be to admit him. If he doesn’t eat soon, it won’t be an option.” Brad raised his hand to forestall the argument. “I know, I know… I’d much prefer he stay home, too, and I sure as heck don’t want him to have a nasogastric tube either, but we have to do something. Another option would be a feeding tube we could insert through the stomach wall if you’re that dead set against the NG, but, I can assure you, it won’t be remotely like what he experienced before. If we can get some nutrition into him and he becomes a little more responsive, he could go home with the tube in, if that’s what it takes.’

‘I’ll also check with Doctor Curtis and see if we can set something up with her. I don’t know her personally, but I checked around and it was her name which kept coming up. She couldn’t be any more highly recommended and she specializes in PTSD; maybe Tony will connect better with her than Doc Adams.”

“At this point, I just want him to connect with anyone,” Gibbs pointed out pessimistically. He worriedly watched Tony doze without any sign of recognition, even of Ducky, who was sitting next to him, gently massaging his neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, well, the antidepressants we tried were a bust. We could try something else, but I think we should wait for Doctor Curtis’ recommendation. Tony could give a pharmaceutical company nightmares of epic proportions.”

With a slam of the front door, Gerald trotted into the room for his weekday shift, a bag in one hand and a cup tray in the other. Without acknowledging the men surrounding Tony, he plunked everything onto the coffee table and sat down next to it directly across from Tony. “Hey, Tony! Thanks for loaning me those Bond DVDs!” He offered the small pile to Tony, finally setting them on Ducky’s lap when Tony twitched once, his eyes opening meditatively before drifting closed again.

Gerald pressed the issue, “I watched _“Moonraker”_ last night and I think you’re totally wrong about Lazenby – he makes a great Bond!” Leaving his exclamation hanging in the air, Gerald plastered a huge smile on his face and waited as the silence stretched between them.

“Moore,” eventually drifted from the cushions.

Exchanging a happily surprised grin with Ducky at the hoarsely whispered reply, the health aide reached for his ear, slipping the bud from it as he said, “Sorry, I couldn’t hear you with my iPod going. What did you say?”

Tony turned his head so his cheek rested on the cushion. He sleepily regarded Gerald before huskily correcting, “Roger Moore was in _“Moonraker”_. Lazenby starred in _“On Her Majesty’s Secret Service”_ ten years earlier; even with Diana Riggs costarring and Louis Armstrong’s last recorded song, it’s easily the weakest Bond film ever shot, even though it was the most loyal to its novel.”

“Why was it so weak then?” Gerald asked conversationally as he pulled the two drinks from the cardboard carrier, offering one to Tony as he slurped his own. “You gotta try one of these fruit flips, they’re delicious. I’d bet it’d feel really good on your throat…”

Bit by bit, a hand disentangled itself and snaked out of the blanket to accept the slushy drink. Tony tentatively took a cautious sip and an even more cautious swallow before answering faintly, “First, Lazenby just didn’t have the whole Bond vibe working for him – he thought Bond wasn’t timely. It was the beginning of the 70’s and he thought Bond wasn’t liberated enough.” Tony paused in his explanation to take another, longer sip, before continuing, “From the sound of things, the guy was an ass. Then, to make matters worse, when you have a great character, you don’t mess it up with a forced romance – an occasional tumble with a sexy Bond girl is one thing, marrying him off then killing her just isn’t what most fans want to see in a Bond…”

While the other three men held their breath, Gerald reached into the bag, pulling out a jelly donut hole and messily eating it. After he noisily licked his fingers of any errant sugar, he rustled the bag in offering at Tony, holding it out when Tony lifted his head to look in as he plucked a donut hole out for himself. Delicately nibbling at it, Tony gingerly lowered his legs as he shifted on the sofa.

Surreptitiously setting the DVDs down on the coffee table so he didn’t distract the two men, Ducky hoisted himself from the couch and beckoned Brad and Gibbs to the kitchen. Once they got there, he noted with a proud glance at his former assistant, “I believe we should leave the two of them to their discussion.” 

Ducky had not only called Brad but also Gerald the night before, hoping his experience with this new Tony might give some added insight. While Gerald didn’t have any suggestions Ducky hadn’t already considered, he obviously had slept on it and, thankfully, it apparently had paid off.

Gerald’s eyes smugly flashed at Ducky in triumph before turning his full attention back to Tony when the injured man asked him something Ducky couldn’t hear.

“Whaddaya think, Duck?”

“Gerald has broken the ice. Let’s give him the day and see where that leaves us before we make any further decisions?”

Gibbs balked. “Maybe I should stay home today. We’re just working cold cases right now. They could call me in if we catch a case.”

“I think Donald has the right idea,” Brad averred. “We need to get Tony back on a normal schedule as soon as possible. If something comes up, Gerald can call you. Let’s see if he can distract him and get him back on an even keel.”

Gibbs thoughtfully watched Tony reach into the bag for a second donut hole. Tony’s movements were awkward, jerky, but at least he was moving because he chose to, rather than being ordered. Gibbs knew he couldn’t shelter Tony from everything, but couldn’t help but need to try; his man had been through so much in his lifetime, Gibbs couldn’t help but wonder how many more times he could bounce back.

000

Gibbs glanced up from the case file to check the clock at the bottom of his computer screen one more time and sighed. Sitting back into his chair, he didn’t miss the furtive glances his two agents kept shooting him from behind the folders they had each buried their faces in when he moved. Frowning to himself, he chafed at the excruciatingly deliberate passage of time. He took a long drink of his coffee then peered down the sip hole in disappointment; it was still too full for a coffee run. Gibbs needed to do something and spending the day going over long-cold case files only exacerbated the issue.

Ducky and Palmer were out on a call and he had already visited Abby enough times that her last Caf-Pow! had been accepted with a knowing smirk, a peck on the cheek and then had been pointedly placed in her refrigerator next to the previous one. Thus chastened, he had done his best to stay rooted to his desk. Gibbs hadn’t heard from Gerald at all and was hesitant to call and interrupt whatever the two men were doing. His considerable willpower was at a low ebb and Gibbs appreciated how his two junior agents had managed to stay mesmerized by boring case files in deference to that.

Grinning from ear to ear, Abby charged into the squad room and directly to Gibbs’ desk, holding out her cell phone to him expectantly. “Gibbs, Gerald texted me since he knows you’d never get a message.”

With a raised eyebrow at his lab rat, Gibbs squinted at the outthrust cell as he tried to read the screen, finally grabbing Abby’s hand to steady it. With an amused snort and roll of her eyes at his futile attempts to read it, Abby flipped the screen sideways, allowing the text to enlarge in the wider format. Drawing back in surprise as the letters tumbled horizontally, Gibbs adjusted his position and slipped on his glasses to read the text with a frown. His hammering heart slowed when he read:

_‘Tony better. .5 ham s-wich, cup soup, shake. Talking some. Off couch. Tell Gibbs.’_

“Everything okay, Boss?” McGee asked, his eyes expectantly peeking around his monitor.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Pulling off his glasses and tapping them in his hand, he looked up at Abby with a relieved smile. “Thanks, Abs. Could ya let him know I’ll be home early?”

“Now, there’s a shocker…” Abby muttered as she took her phone back and began tapping away on it. She hopefully looked up. “Can I visit tonight, Bossman? I promise to not push him or anything!”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea until we see what we’re dealing with. If he’s doing better, maybe tomorrow.” He sought her downturned eyes, only speaking again when he captured her gaze. “I’ll call you as soon as possible, okay?”

“I guess…” Abby dejectedly pressed her lips together in a pout. Suddenly, her eyes sparked. “Any time, though – promise me that! I don’t care how late it is!”

“Deal.”

000

Rolling with the swells, the large ship lumbered through the ocean, its design not one for comfort as much as utility. Heavily laden with cargo, it rode low in the water, transmitting every slight shift in position in tremors which radiated throughout the ship and intensified the further from the source they reached. The scent of salt hung heavy in the air as the metal containers strained with a screech against each other at every sway of the ship only to groan as they settled together again. High in one of the stacks of containers, Tony huddled in his dark corner, his chained leg outstretched while he hugged his free leg to his body. His ankle burned where the chain had abraded the skin down, layer by layer, until it was ringed by angry, seeping sores.

By the light of day, shafts of sunlight filtered through the seams into the large container, lending everything an eerie half-light decorated by whirling dust motes and sparkling streaks of condensation which quickly evaporated in ethereal ribbons. Nearby, against a large wooden crate, the case of water his captors threw into the container behind him taunted him where it had slid just out of reach a few days earlier. Tony’s lips cracked and bled and his head pounded with dehydration. The harsh equatorial sun beat down on the metal box, raising the temperature inside the container so fast, Tony didn’t have a chance to enjoy the relief from the dank, frigid nights before he was cursing the extreme heat of day once more.

With nightfall came total darkness only punctuated by the grinding of metal upon metal through the swaying tower of containers. It was this time that the vampires came, sweeping in ahead of the biting cold to surround Tony, poking at him, taunting him and darting in and out the corner of his vision. He could sense their scrutiny each night, smell their rancid, coppery breath upon his neck, hear the flapping of their capes and their frenzied breathing. When dawn came each morning, they fled before the sun only to return every evening to torment him in the velvety darkness they preferred.

Having realized the extent of his situation early in the voyage, Tony clung desperately to his sanity, waiting for Gibbs to finally figure out where he was. He had long since exhausted any possibilities for escape and knew rescue was his only chance. He recounted entire movies, played trivia with himself, sang songs, counted rivets, and recited the NCIS manual on Conduct in the Event of Captivity. As the days wore on and hopelessness fueled by dehydration set in, Tony spent most of his time curled into a ball, just trying to ride it out, hoping as much as fearing he’d reach port sooner than later. 

Tony lost track of time as one hellish day morphed into another. By now, his mind was sluggish, his body all but non-responsive. Even something as simple as reaching the end of his chain to relieve himself was almost too much effort if it hadn’t been for his pride. Not that he was producing much anyways – Tony’s empty system was beginning to shut down. His swollen tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth and his lips bled constantly. Tony’s chest burned as one racking cough transformed into an unrelenting non-stop wheeze. He gabbled for hours about nothing then would lie, staring mutely, for over a day.

The vampires knew… They no longer waited for the dark to come, instead lurking in the shadows even during the daylight hours. They no longer hid, pausing within his vision for several beats longer with hunger in their eyes. Watching. Waiting. Laughing. They remembered him. Remembered how he rejected them decades earlier. Sent them away. It enraged them that he had cast them out. They knew he was helpless against them now. They would not be denied…

The ship swayed alarmingly as the ocean breezes began to pick up, unceremoniously waking Tony up by throwing him violently into the metal wall. As the gale intensified, the metal groaned even further as the containers strained against the pins connecting them. The sights, sounds, smells and even feel of his captivity surrounded the NCIS agent: the case of water, skidding along the crate every now and again as the ship plunged over swells; the low, thrumming groan of shifting metal on metal; the pop, ping and squeak of the locking pins; the buffeting of the wind; the clatter and jangle of the chains; the cloying odor of human waste and sweat and rust and salt; the roar of the ocean.

Hitting a large swell, the boat emitted a subhuman groan which vibrated up through his bones. Tony shivered in the cold, stifling yet another coughing jag which got drier and coarser each progressive day. The water began to slide, skidding along the side of the crate it had rested against for several days. Tony’s bloodshot eyes hungrily tracked its progress as another swell put it even further from reach. When it began sliding back towards him, he clumsily lunged for it, crying out in pain as his ankle caught before he could reach it. Spent, he lay sobbing and pounding his fist as his other hand gingerly sought the injured appendage. Tony rolled onto his back with a groan, feeling the cold of the metal seep up into his chest. Rolling onto his side, he curled into a fetal position as he struggled to control his breathing. 

A slap to the back of the head startled Tony awake. His head snapped up, hopefully looking for his boss in the hazy morning light. Instead, next to his head lay the case of water. Weakly scooting around to grab a bottle, Tony fumbled with the cap, his fingers shakily struggling to get a grip. Once the bottle was opened, Tony fought the urge to chug it down. He sipped the water at first, savoring the feel of it sluicing over his swollen tongue and down his parched throat. His body tried to repel the foreign substance but he fought down the urge to vomit. Setting the bottle beside himself, Tony grabbed the case and dragged it to his corner, possessively hunching against it while he sipped some more water.

A few days later, Tony awoke to new sounds. He realized he could hear more shorebirds and there was a thrum of activity beyond the loud bangs, groans and clangs he had become accustomed to aboard ship. Machinery could be heard from a distance and voices – human voices in a tongue and cadence he didn’t immediately recognize filled the air. A thunderous clang reverberated through the container and, with an abrupt jolt, the container started to swing independent of the stack as the crane lifted it skyward. 

Fighting the vertigo, Tony braced against the floor as anticipation built. He tried to calm his breathing, quell the rising panic as the container came back down to solid earth. He could hear the container being opened, the forklift unloading the cargo and waited. Struggling to stand, Tony listed to one side and fell heavily. Making every effort to regain his equilibrium, he clawed his way to a sitting position again, scooting backwards until he was in front of his last two bottles of water. When the forklift uncovered his corner, Tony grimaced as he shielded his eyes from the brilliant midday sun. Men hustled towards him, down the long metal tunnel, blocking out the light…

“NOOOOO!!!” Tony fought against the arms holding him tight. “LEGGO’OME! LEGGO!” He twisted away despite the pain in his desperate rush to escape. 

With a thud, Tony landed on the floor then blindly scooted away from his tormentor. Something pulled at his face to the accompaniment of a loud clang. His eyes jerkily sought the case of water; his heart dropped when it was nowhere to be seen. Tony crawled around on the floor, desperately searching. A shadow above him suddenly sent him crabbing sideways into the wall where he huddled as tremors overtook his body. When the shadow followed, he repeatedly begged in a small voice, “dontouchme. Please, jusdontouchme. Lemme go…”

A soft voice filtered into his consciousness past the sounds of his hammering heart, his whispered entreaties and his chattering teeth. A voice, achingly familiar, making impossible promises and unreasonable requests, persisted despite Tony’s efforts to shake off the delusion. Gulping for air, Tony’s vision cleared until he saw two clawed hands hovering mere inches from his face and, beyond that, the twisted visage of a vampire leering back at him. Tony blinked and shook his head before trying again. The vampire morphed into the concerned face of his boss. One of the hands moved slightly, making Tony flinch violently into the nightstand, painfully bouncing his head off the solid wood table. A hand snatched his forearm before he could hurt himself further, setting off another round of panic.

Twisting out of the slackening hold on his arm and with nowhere else to go, Tony curled his head under his hands and waited breathlessly for the inevitable beating. When it didn’t come, he peeked sideways through his lashes and the fall of hair which obscured his face. The apparition of his boss continued to hover over him, endlessly repeating the same reassurances. Squeezing his eyes tight, Tony shook his head, denying the vision as black spots swam in front of his eyes while his breathing continued to rage out of control.

As he began to sag, warm, calloused hands and the earthy scent of sawdust permeated his senses.

“Dontouchme. Please,” he softly hiccupped between the wheezes.

Tony unconsciously followed the comforting hands as they gently released him, eventually ending up swaying in place just out of Gibbs’ grasp.

“I’m not touching ya, Tony. I’m right here. You had a nightmare. You’re safe now. We gotcha.”

“Boss?”

“I’m right here. I gotcha. It was just a dream. Breathe for me now. Come on, DiNozzo.”

“Can’t,” Tony gasped. “Boss?” He looked at Gibbs with eyes full of desperation.

Gibbs impotently watched Tony struggle against his demons. He could see he needed the comfort despite his pleas to the contrary but every move he made sent him skittering further away. Tony began to list to one side, bringing Gibbs’ hand up to support him.

“Donttouchme!”

“Okay, okay… What do you need me to do?”

“I… uh…” Tony whimpered, “I dunno!” He drew his hand across his face in frustration. Drawing his knees up, Tony’s shoulders shook as his chest heaved with effort. His eyes rolled then opened to blearily meet Gibbs’.

“Tony, let me help. Please. Tell me what you need.”

For some reason, Gibbs’ use of the word ‘please’ resonated in Tony’s mind, causing him to draw up short for a moment. “Wish I knew,” Tony admitted breathlessly. He cringed again when Gibbs shifted his weight, unable to allow any contact with his sensitized flesh. 

Hoping to get through to him, Gibbs stated matter-of-factly, “Tony, what I need is for you to do your breathing exercises right now. In through the nose, out through your mouth. Come on… You gotta catch your breath.” Gibbs firmly coached as he righted the oxygen tank behind him, “You’re doing good. Here. You lost your oxygen – put it on. It’ll make it easier.”

A shaky hand fumbled for the cannula, but Tony was unable to so much as hang onto it. With a string of reassurances, Gibbs edged closer. When Tony ducked away towards the nightstand again, Gibbs’ hand flashed out, catching a finger in the ring on Tony’s collar. 

“You okay, DiNozzo?”

His eyes widening in shock, Tony froze and, with the barest of nods, automatically allowed Gibbs to replace the cannula. Slowly rising, Gibbs carefully drew Tony with him towards the bed. The injured agent nervelessly followed, his hooded eyes unfocused, his hands slack at his sides. Touching nothing but Tony’s collar, Gibbs guided him back into bed as he crawled across the mattress and pulled the covers over the both of them.

Once his collar was released, Tony lay back on his side of the bed with a pained hiss which immediately set Gibbs into motion, startling Tony and almost sending him crashing back down to the floor if Gibbs’ hand hadn’t again latched onto his collar in time. Tony gratefully accepted the pillow thrust at him but shook his head at the offer of help beyond that. The nightmare had been so real, he was having trouble shaking it and even the soft current of air from the fan blowing across his face was almost too much stimulation. Clutching the pillow tight, Tony burrowed deep under the sanctuary of the covers with a shiver, knowing Gibbs was watching over him the entire time. 

Tony pitied the vampires – they were no match for his Boss.

000

  



	21. Chapter 21

[Artwork by Mella68](http://mella68.livejournal.com/87952.html)

When Gibbs awoke, he found Tony’s side of the bed empty. A quick search of the room revealed Tony wrapped in a comforter with his knees drawn up to his chest, curled sideways in the rocking chair, absently swaying as he dreamily stared out the window. A late spring shower beat a staccato rhythm against the window, mirroring Tony’s mood.

Tony’s eyes flicked towards the bed before returning to the grey dawn. “They gave me a case of water,” he whispered softly. “Locked me in, chained to the wall.” He fell silent, took a long breath. “Ever hear the sound a bunch of stacked containers make in heavy seas, Boss?”

Gibbs eased himself into a sitting position, his back against the headboard, his wrists loosely resting on his knees, and silently shook his head.

“It’s like a subhuman groan – you can feel it go through you. Like out of a zombie movie... I think I was in one of the top containers – it was so hot and so cold and the swaying and vibrations were so bad all the time. I tried to ration it – only drink when I had to. You know, when the headaches get so bad? Then there was no water and I was afraid I was going crazy. Do you think I’m crazy, Boss?”

“No. Do you think you’re crazy?”

His hands tugging at the comforter, Tony snorted then looked intently out the window and into the lightening sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted faintly. “All I know is I was someplace no one would ever look and I couldn’t get out and I was so alone and all I wanted was someone to talk to…” A hand shakily emerged to swipe at some errant hair as Tony gathered his thoughts. “..and they wouldn’t talk with me – they were always there talkin’ around me but they wouldn’t talk TO me!”

Gibbs’ eyebrow climbed as Tony’s rocking increased in tempo.

Mindfully slowing the rocking, Tony muttered, “Never mind…” He sighed, “By the time we reached port all I wanted was out of that container but I was scared to death what I was gonna find outside. When they came for me, I tried to fight them off, Boss!” He slammed his feet down, stilling the chair but not the incessant quivers radiating through his body. “I really did!” 

The eyes of desperation drew Gibbs to Tony’s side. Standing next to him, Gibbs wordlessly reached out a hand in offering, mindful of Tony’s sensitivity the night before, and patiently waited as Tony’s need for contact warred with his aversion to it. The subtle shift of body weight served as invitation for Gibbs to step close to the chair and guide Tony’s head to rest his cheek on Gibbs’ torso.

“I know you did, son. I know you did…”

The voice that continued was smaller with a pensive quality to it as the chair resumed motion once more, “There were so many of them and I could barely stand up without falling over. I don’t even know how I arrived at Master’s house. It’s all just a blur. All I know is, by the time night fell that first day, I was pierced, collared and chained to the foot of his bed.” Tony’s hand slid down his chest, lingering on a golden ring under the thin t-shirt.

“My first few weeks there, there was so much pain – they could do anything they wanted and there was nothing I could do about it. Master said I was his special pet for him to train as he wanted. He was always testing me – waiting for me to fail so he could punish me – making me fail, so he’d have an excuse – not that it ever stopped him...’

‘Master would show me off to visitors – his American agent. He’d take me to port sometimes; make me walk through the crowd. They hated Americans; they hated me but they were afraid of my Master and, as long as I wore his collar,” The blanket rustled as Tony’s hand drifted to his throat, “they didn’t dare touch me.”

Tony fell silent. The chair stilled while Gibbs thoughtfully smoothed Tony’s hair in long, soothing strokes.

Several heartbeats later, Tony broke the silence. “Boss, why is it that, now that I’ve remembered something, I feel even more confused than before?”

“Whaddaya mean, Tony?”

Tony frowned. “I don’t feel any different, just more scared. Like, while it always made sense there would be one, now I know there really is a monster under the bed… If this is what it’s like to remember, Boss, I’m not sure I want to.”

“I can tell ya sometimes it’s worse only knowing half the story. Maybe when you know the whole story, you’ll be able to finally process it,” Gibbs pointed out hopefully while, in his heart, he wondered how much worse Tony’s story would get as memories surfaced. 

While the tension in the body leaning against his abdomen told him Tony was still awake, Gibbs noticed Tony’s breathing had slowed to pace his own. While he continued to stroke Tony’s hair, Gibbs carefully worked his hand lower, to massage Tony’s neck and shoulders. He was gratified to see Tony could now allow that simple contact. From the time he met him, Gibbs had noticed Tony was clearly a very tactile person yet he had always kept himself at arm’s length from people even while invading their space. A major bone of contention when Abby first met Tony was his reluctance to be manhandled by the enthusiastic Goth. She had taken it as a personal affront until Gibbs had stepped in privately on his second’s behalf, at which time Abby then made converting him a personal crusade. As hints of Tony’s upbringing came to light, Gibbs could well imagine the cause of this reticence. 

Feeling a particular tight spot, Gibbs worked the underlying muscles, smiling to himself when Tony unconsciously hummed softly to himself in time with the fingers. “Feel good?”

With his head lolling against his boss, Tony could feel the light chuckle through Gibbs’ chest. “Yeah, better. Thanks, Boss.”

Taking advantage of Tony’s lassitude, Gibbs broached, “Brad and Ducky would like you to try talkin’ with someone. They found a doc you might like.” He scowled when Tony’s muscles tightened under his fingertips.

Tony looked up to gauge Gibbs’ thoughts on the subject. “I… ah… What do you think, Boss?”

“Hell if I know. I think it’s worth tryin’.” Gibbs tipped his head to meet the leaf green eyes. “They really want you to try, but I told them it’s up to you.”

“Will you be there?”

“As close as they’ll let me,” Gibbs allowed. “The doc might think you’d feel more comfortable talking privately. We’re not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

“I dunno. Have you met the doc?”

“Nope, but she comes with good credentials.”

“She? Is she pretty?”

“DiNozzo, you’re supposed to speak with her, not date her!”

Sheepishly, Tony admitted, “Doesn’t hurt to ask, Boss.”

Gibbs shook his head in amusement. “Just be good.” His humor died as the comment, almost too soft to be heard, reached his ears.

“’s what they trained me to do, Boss.”

000

Doctor Amanda Curtis looked across the thick file to curiously consider the man sleeping soundly on the couch across from her. When Brad Pitt had approached her with this case, she had been captivated by the almost Dickensian story of his life. Now that she had agreed to take his case on and Agent DiNozzo’s guardian had approved her participation on his health team, Brad had brought her to Alexandria for an introductory house call. Amanda’s gaze wandered to the enigmatic silver-haired man Brad was animatedly chatting with. On the ride over, Doctor Pitt had attempted to describe the relationship between the two men, enthusiastically detailing several implausible situations which left her shaking her head in disbelief. Now, with her skepticism in full bloom, the entire file in her lap and the two men in front of her, Amanda wondered what she had gotten herself into.

Tony, as she was told he preferred to be called, had improved since Doctor Pitt originally called her, so they had scheduled to meet the following weekend when it would be the easiest for everyone involved with the case to attend. With his amnesia, Amanda hoped to speak with the people who knew Tony best privately, so she could approach him with a solid understanding of her patient. Upon arriving, Gibbs had greeted them each with a handshake and a gruff grunt in reply to questions about Tony’s wellbeing then led them into the house, offering the strongest coffee Amanda had ever tried and the sparest of conversation. When Brad accepted it all with a nonchalant grin, casually checked over his sleeping patient, who was snuggled under a fleece blanket on the couch, poured a criminal amount of sugar and a touch of water and cream into his coffee and collapsed into a comfortable chair, Amanda followed suit, pulling out the chart Brad had handed her in the car to acquaint herself with her patient. 

The section following Tony’s exposure to the Plague intrigued her; Brad had told her about Gibbs ordering his man to live and the astoundingly unanticipated turnaround which occurred immediately thereafter. The chart was also interspersed with comments on both ends of the spectrum relating to Gibbs’ continued presence throughout Tony’s recovery. Amanda couldn’t imagine how Tony had avoided psychiatric care after that catastrophic incident and the added trauma of his partner’s death in the line of duty just a day after returning to work a week early from his sick leave, but somehow he had managed to skim through only the most basic psych evaluation before returning to duty. Amanda scanned through gunshot wounds, druggings, stab wounds, bomb blasts, and a dizzying array of miscellaneous injuries in the line of duty, continually coming across the same name on the admittance forms: ‘L. Jethro Gibbs’.

Heads snapped up around the room when Tony’s breath abruptly shortened and he writhed with a whimper, his face knotting in pain as his head sank between his shoulders. Before either doctor could move, Gibbs was at his side, whispering into his ear until, with a hiccupping sigh, he settled back into a dreamless sleep with a relaxed smile on his face. Mystified, Amanda looked over to Brad to receive an amused pop of the eyebrow in reply. Before she could say anything, an older gentleman rattled in the door, speaking non-stop to a tall, curly-haired man and followed by a pretty female Goth.

The unlikely trio immediately made themselves at home, with the Goth heading directly towards Gibbs, collecting a peck on the cheek as she handed him a grocery bag, then making a beeline for Tony to kneel beside him with a hand tenderly massaging him through the blanket.

As Amanda and Brad rose, the elderly man approached with a welcoming smile on his face. “Hello, Doctor Curtis, it’s such a pleasure to finally meet you! I’m Donald Mallard; my friends call me Ducky. Sorry we’re late; we had a few things we needed to pick up.”

“Amanda, please, Ducky. And, it’s fine; I’m still catching up with Tony’s case – his file is quite extensive,” she replied with a smile at Tony’s primary care doctor.

“Yes, well, he certainly has had more than his share of mishaps,” he chuckled. Ducky waved towards the younger man standing awkwardly at his elbow. “This is Mister Palmer, my assistant and a very good friend of Anthony’s. And, this is Abigail,” he noted with a fond smile as he indicated the Goth. “She’s Tony’s best friend and confidante.”

“It’s a pleasure meeting you all. Brad has told me quite a bit about you.”

“Probably more like warned you,” Ducky’s assistant joked. He extended his hand. “I’m Jimmy.”

“Hey,” Brad grinned. “I couldn’t have her walking in on this crew unprepared; Emma and I are still recovering from the first incident!”

Ducky chuckled as he settled into the recliner. “Mister Palmer, would you be so kind as to give Doctor Curtis Anthony’s file?”

“Of course, Doctor Mallard. I have it right here.”

Amanda waved towards the thick folder she’d been perusing before their arrival as she also slid into her seat. “Thanks, Ducky, but I already have it.”

“Oh, no, Amanda, if I’m not mistaken, I believe that’s just his hospital record. Anthony is extremely suspicious of doctors and an absolute terror when it comes to going to the hospital. For most of his minor injuries, I've treated him privately. He’s only gone to the hospital when it was beyond my capacity in Autopsy or I’ve been unavailable and Jethro wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The psychiatrist blinked as Jimmy handed her another folder nearly as thick as the one she was holding. “Autopsy?” Brad had mentioned he was also a pathologist at NCIS but she hadn’t realized that his position as Tony’s primary and NCIS coroner were so intrinsically connected.

“Yes, well, I could do more but they will only allow me to stock so many first aid supplies considering my patients are supposed to be dead! So, tell us something about yourself…” the coroner invited with a friendly smile.

Realizing Brad hadn’t exaggerated nearly as much as she had suspected, Amanda looked around the circle of people all watching her expectantly from their various seats. She noticed Gibbs had parked himself on the arm of the couch near Tony’s head, Jimmy had simply plopped his lanky frame on the floor at the opposite end of the couch, Abby had contentedly tuned them all out as she nestled against the couch to watch Tony sleep and Ducky was lying back on the recliner with a cup of tea which had materialized at his elbow the second he sat down. Through all of this, Tony hadn’t stirred despite Brad’s assertion he had extremely sensitive hearing. 

The psychiatrist frowned, Gibbs had explained when they arrived that Tony had recently taken medication and she understood he was especially sensitive to it and still recovering from his injuries but, aside from the one brief disturbance, it had been nearly an hour without so much as a peep despite the hubbub of six people in the same room. “Does Tony typically sleep so deeply?”

“He has been, especially since his shock last weekend,” Ducky admitted. “Of course, the medication has always thrown him for a loop. Jethro, how long ago was his last dose?”

“An hour ago, Duck. Due for two meds in another three.”

“He should be awake in a little while then. Brad tells us your specialty is PTSD…” Ducky encouraged.

“Yes. I’ve been practicing at Bethesda for over a decade, mainly working with PTSD. My specialty is with abuse and assault survivors – a large part of my practice is women and dependent children -- although, with the new stressors our troops are experiencing out in the field, I’m seeing increasing numbers of young men as my schedule allows. I can’t imagine anyone is ever prepared to deal with an enemy which uses innocent civilians as part of their arsenal…”

“No, I’d imagine not,” Ducky admitted somberly as his eyes wandered to movement at the couch.

Abby had leaned over to press her forehead to Tony’s and they were deep in conversation as he sleepily got his bearings. From the more audible snippets, it was apparent Abby was preparing him for Doctor Curtis’ visit while Tony was having second thoughts. They debated for several minutes in hushed whispers until, with Abby’s help, Tony reluctantly swung up into a half-sit and then drowsily slouched down against her to peer inquisitively at the petite doctor from where Abby had scooted up to snuggle in beside him.

“Boss?” Tony called thickly as he lifted his hands free from the blanket.

As Gibbs nonchalantly leaned over his charge, faces fell across the room when Tony’s joined wrists became visible. “How’s the itch?” he whispered in Tony’s ear as he released the carabiners attached to his cuffs.

“It’s killing me, Boss,” Tony admitted. He flexed his shoulders in and out while rubbing his back back and forth across the couch as he tried to quell the irritation. Tony nearly purred when Abby began to rub circles on his lower back.

“Jethro, what is the meaning of this?” Ducky demanded in outrage as he slammed the recliner upright. His eyes flashed agitatedly towards the two doctors, who both had looks of disbelief on their faces – Brad’s with a tinge of amusement and Amanda’s with shocked disapproval.

Gently kneading Tony’s hunched back while Tony fought to keep his hands balled in his lap, Gibbs calmly answered, “His back’s been driving him crazy with the itch and he’s been scratching his scabs open. Palmer suggested mittens but, since it’s almost summer, I couldn’t find any in the stores and the wool ones we tried gave him rashes where he rubbed, so Tony suggested we use the cuffs while he’s sleeping.”

“I could have given you the web addy for a shop that does leather ones, Bossman. All you had to do was ask!” Abby offered brightly. A quick glance around the room, made her retreat into Tony’s chest a little as she squished her lips to one side in discomfiture. “Never mind…”

Ignoring Abby, Ducky continued to bluster, “But, Jethro, this is outrageous! How could you possibly think this was a good idea?” 

“Wow, Boss, I didn’t think Ducky would get that upset about this. I guess we’d better not tell him about… you know…” Tony offered almost quiet enough for Ducky to not hear.

Ducky’s eyebrows climbed as he took a long breath in preparation for his next diatribe. With great effort, he spoke evenly. “What are you talking about, Anthony?”

Wide, innocent eyes met his. “Nothing.”

Her mouth hanging open, Abby looked from Gibbs, who was giving Tony an unreadable look, to Tony, who had suddenly found the carabiner still attached to a small ring on one of his cuffs fascinating. When Tony curled the corner of his lip and flashed her a quick impish glance, her eyes widening in joyful surprise, Abby drew herself up with an exclamation and bopped him in the arm. “Tony, you’re so bad!” she laughed.

Ducky’s ire cooled in an instant as he looked at Tony in befuddlement. He chuckled lightly as he gestured towards the injured man. “Come; let me take a look at your back. I haven’t seen it for a few days. Mr. Palmer, have you been using the salve?”

“Yes, Doctor Mallard, I applied it this morning,” Palmer answered promptly.

Tony obediently knelt beside Ducky’s chair and lifted his shirt for him to see. Brad came around behind him to cluck at the scabs which had pulled away. While the two doctors probed the web of suture lines, Tony shyly examined his new doctor from under his eyelashes while occasionally wincing and answering a question to the two men behind him.

Amanda watched the interplay with a practiced eye. She hadn’t missed how Tony had defused the situation and the rest had responded in turn. Even Tony’s taciturn guardian had smiled at the odd joke despite the delicate subject, which had made Tony glow with satisfaction. Amanda had seen the report from the rape kit, the hospital records and now, with Ducky’s records, had also seen the private catalog of previous scars and injuries the coroner had been maintaining on an autopsy sheet since Tony had joined NCIS; apparently, whenever Tony would give a hint of the cause of an injury Ducky had noticed on his skin or x-rays earlier, Ducky would make a notation in his record. Seeing the evidence of repeated childhood traumas coupled with what he had recently survived made Amanda appreciate just how resilient her patient was.

The psychologist found herself having a difficult time getting accustomed to Tony’s voice, however. While Brad had told her of the injuries to his throat and larynx and assured her the timbre of his voice was beginning to improve, it was still quite painful to listen to. Amanda understood their unanimous decision to not discourage Tony from talking to aid in his recovery and, from what she had seen, agreed wholeheartedly with it, but it didn’t make it any easier.

Ducky finally sat back with satisfaction, giving Tony a pat on the shoulder in permission to pull his shirt back on as he sat back. “Overall, Anthony, I’m pleased with your healing. Almost all your stitches have finally dissolved and that one larger welt we were worried about dehisting seems to be closing up well – the butterflies held it nicely.”

“Can’t stop itching it, Ducky,” Tony complained.

“Yes, well, we’ll have to come up with something to help calm that down. Perhaps a mild Lidocaine spray would be advised. What do you think, Bradley?”

Brad shrugged. “Couldn’t hurt and might keep it down to a dull roar. It usually stings a little going on though,” he warned Tony.

“I’ll take a little sting to a big itch any day of the week, Brad.”

Ducky looked to the psychologist apologetically. “I’m afraid I’ve been monopolizing your time, Amanda. Would you like to begin?”

“That’s okay, Ducky. I’m not on the clock today.” She smiled. “I was wondering if I could first speak with Tony alone?”

Tony’s head snapped to Gibbs in alarm.

“Totally alone, Doctor Curtis?” Gibbs asked. He raised an eyebrow at Tony, silently communicating everything was fine and watching approvingly as his man relaxed and resignedly nodded with a bowed head.

“Ideally, yes. You can wait in the other room, if you’d like.” She spoke for Tony’s benefit, “If we need you for anything, you’ll be close by.”

With a cornered expression, Tony nervously edged over to the couch as everyone filed out to the study. He eased himself into it and gathered the blanket around himself with a shiver. Gibbs grabbed his forearm and leaned close to give him some quiet reassurances before taking Abby by the arm. As she was led away, Abby bent low to grant him a quick peck on the cheek. 

And then Tony was alone.

000

  



	22. Chapter 22

  


Amanda silently watched the intelligent green eyes warily take her measure. Brad had warned her Tony was a force to be reckoned with and Ben Adams had simply wished her luck when she asked his opinions on the case, so she knew she couldn’t underestimate her patient. As soon as Gibbs and Abby had left his sides, Tony had protectively pulled the fleece blanket around himself and leaned into an arm of the couch. Amanda couldn’t miss the way he watched his friends leave the room nor the way he had finally begun to relax when Gibbs had loudly replied to Ducky the next room over, most likely a carryover of their argument about Tony’s cuffs. It concerned the doctor greatly that his amnesia was persisting in such an obviously supportive environment, despite the severity of her patient’s injuries, both physical and psychological; she made a note to reevaluate his CT scans with his neurologist, if only to reassure herself the cause was purely psychogenic.

Pulling a chair close, Amanda waited for Tony to get accustomed to her presence.

“You aren’t gonna show me ink spills, are you?” Tony rasped from his cocoon.

Amanda laughed. “No. I don’t usually use those. I can’t make head or tails of them either. I just like to talk.”

Tony gravely nodded. 

“Do you like to talk, Tony?”

Tony shrugged then wriggled a bit to scratch at his back again.

Waiting Tony out, Amanda asked, “Could you tell me something about yourself, Tony?”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you feel like telling me.”

“Nothing much to say; I’m nobody interesting.”

“From the crowd I had to kick out, I’d like to think they consider you somebody pretty special.”

“Maybe I was that, but I’m not him anymore. He’s gone and they’re stuck with me.”

“I heard he tried to emerge last weekend. You’re beginning to remember. Can you tell me what it was?”

“NO!” He took a deep breath then explained evenly, “I told my Boss some of it.”

“You didn’t tell him everything?”

“Nothin’ much more to tell…”

“Then why didn’t you tell it?”

The eyes left her to stare at a far corner of the room. “Didn’t want to…”

Backpedalling, Amanda reassured her patient, “Tony, you don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want. You won’t hurt my feelings if you tell me you don’t want to share something.”

“Good.” His eyes suddenly vulnerable, Tony solemnly asked, “Doc, do you think I’m crazy?”

“What do you think?”

“Boss doesn’t.”

“He told you that?”

Tony nodded.

“Do you believe him?” Amanda broached.

“Boss doesn’t lie.”

“So, you believe him?” She watched with frustration as the trapped expression seeped across his face again.

“Boss wouldn’t lie to me,” he continued to deflect although Amanda couldn’t tell if it was her or himself he was more trying to convince. Tony’s eyes wandered longingly to the door to the study.

“You rely upon Agent Gibbs a lot,” she observed quietly.

“He’s my Boss.”

“What does that mean to you?” Amanda was pleased to see her question had diverted Tony’s attention from the door to herself.

He stared at her intently. “He always has my six,” he answered without hesitation as though it were obvious.

Amanda found herself caught in the moss green gaze. “Your boss used to be a Marine?”

“No such thing, Doc.” Tony parroted eagerly, “Once a Marine, always a Marine.”

“Where’d you learn that?”

“I… uh… dunno.” Perplexed, Tony knitted his brows as he tried to concentrate. Shaking his head in frustration, he reiterated, “Dunno.”

“It’s all right if you don’t remember something. To be honest, it sounds like something your boss would say…”

“Boss says a lot of things,” Tony fondly noted.

Seeing his boss was a favorite subject, Amanda pursued, “He doesn’t seem very talkative to me…”

“Sometimes he just doesn’t say it out loud, but you know what he’s thinking,” he asserted with absolute certainty.

“What do you think he’s thinking right now?”

Tony answered readily, “Why did I let Duck and Brad talk me into this?” 

Amanda’s eyebrows popped. “Why do you think he’s thinking that?”

“Because, he said it first thing this morning when we were getting dressed.” Tony replied with a roguish grin from where he peeked at her from the folds of his blanket.

000

As they drove up Route 70 towards the Howard County Fairgrounds, Gibbs allowed himself to consider Tony out the corner of his eyes. The younger man had certainly rebounded, Gibbs mused. It had been only three weeks since his recall of the shipping container and he seemed to be coming out of his shell to an amazing degree. Brad and Amanda had both been pleased with his progress during his check-ups that week and the car show had been a building source of excitement for days.

Just the previous Friday at work after he overheard Tony haranguing McGee about finding information on the internet about the show, Gibbs had been brought up short when he realized this was the first event in Tony’s life he had to look forward to since his return, so he wanted to do his best to help make the most of it. At his insistence, Gerald and Tony had worked on the two vehicles’ interiors over several days while Gibbs was at work, leading to nonstop chatter during dinner each evening, which Gibbs simply allowed to wash over himself as he basked in the bright light of Tony’s emerging personality. By the time Saturday arrived, Tony was beside himself to see his car rolled out into the sunshine for the first time, so they could wash and wax it. 

With time to mull everything during the hour long drive, the senior agent had plenty of time to reflect how Tony’s recovery was progressing. While it was daunting to consider how much further he had to go, what was just as striking was how he had finally begun to look like himself. As his wounds healed and his confidence grew, his posture and typical carriage were slowly returning. All the time he spent inside had darkened his hair somewhat towards its more normal color and the weight was beginning to stick to his bones. 

As the car show loomed, one night after work while watching movies and chatting about everything and nothing at the same time, Abby had convinced Tony to get his hair cut for his first real public debut. He had initially balked, citing what Gibbs believed were several actors referenced with movies which Abby feistily countered with examples of her own. They animatedly went back and forth for quite a while, each trying to gain the upper hand. Gibbs still wasn’t sure what an Orlando Bloom was, but Abby had conceded the point when it was brought up. However, while Tony tried to convince her he simply didn’t want it cut as he constantly brushed errant strands behind an ear as had become his habit, it was painfully obvious to everyone that it was his Master’s wrath which held him back.

It was only after Abby changed her mode of attack and dragged Gibbs into the equation that Tony relented with Gibbs’ reiterating his position that it was Tony’s choice but he had his permission and blessing regardless of his decision, leading to a strange evening with Gibbs stiffly sitting in a salon waiting room surrounded by women, not the first of which appeared to be a natural redhead. Abby disappeared into the back of the salon with Tony to oversee the process and keep him company, leaving Gibbs to his own devices and wondering why she insisted he come along at all. He was proud of Tony for making the decision; as much as it was seemingly for such a simple thing, he recognized it for the act of pure defiance it truly was – one which would be impossible to hide from his deeply feared Master.

After a lifetime of waiting and several abortive attempts at reading magazines obsessed with hair, sex or lists of beautiful people which initially caught his attention but rapidly had him rolling his eyes, they returned to the waiting area with Abby triumphant and Tony more than a little bashful at all the attention as heads turned in every direction to avidly follow him. At Ducky’s suggestion, Abby had opted for a style reminiscent of Tony’s longer cut he came from Baltimore with, so the change wouldn’t be as dramatic as it would be if she had it taken shorter. With a grunt of approval which brought a radiant smile to Tony’s face, Gibbs had turned to pay for the cut, only to be shocked at what it cost. For the hundredth time since paying that bill, he wondered grumpily what it would have cost to have all Tony’s hair cut…

Gibbs couldn’t help but chuckle when Tony strained in his seat to glance over his shoulder behind them once again, earning a huff of annoyance from the younger man as he slid back into the seat to face the front.

“They still back there?”

“Waaaay back there. I can barely see them. What’d you say to McGee?”

“What’d you say to him?” Gibbs countered.

Tony shrugged nonchalantly. “I didn’t make any death threats…”

“I got ya covered then,” Gibbs grinned.

“Boss, he’s gonna get into an accident with it trying to not get into an accident. You gotta understand how McGee’s mind works!”

“I don’t need to know how McGee’s mind works – I hardly understand a word he says as it is.”

“Well, at least he won’t get lost; the fairgrounds are on the right up ahead.”

Gibbs squinted to see the sign for the car show, looking for the entrance for the 70’s era cars. Once they had their placards, following Tony’s directions, they pulled in then wended their way through lines of shiny cars with spoilers, wings, and fancy stripes all with their hoods up and convertible tops unfurled. With a blare of her oogah horn, Abby veered left towards the hot rods section with her ’31 Ford; with her ancient hearse once again in the garage, she opted to bring the flashy coupe to show off with a promise to Gibbs to not activate the flame throwers in her exhaust at such a crowded event. 

Once they pulled into an available space, Tony hopped out to attentively supervise McGee’s parking job with his baby. “Thanks, McGee, you even missed that puddle at the entrance!” Tony enthused as he ran his hand lovingly along the pristine fender. He and Gibbs had spent the previous day scrubbing and buffing the exterior of both vehicles into showroom condition in preparation for the event and he was worried he’d have to redo some of the work.

“No problem, Tony. Any idea where Abby parked?” Following the direction Tony vaguely waved, McGee headed off to find the Goth, grateful the Trans Am had arrived in one piece.

While Tony set to work removing and stowing the t-roof glass, Gibbs popped the Challenger’s hood and walked around the car to prop it open. He watched Tony busy himself with his car, already having picked up a few admirers as he displayed his car’s assets. 

Once they had washed the dust off and polished the wheels and trim, they waited for Abby and McGee to rejoin them before they began exploring the fairgrounds. As Gibbs turned from a discussion about the Challenger, he realized Tony was nowhere to be seen. Scanning the area around their cars did not reveal his whereabouts. Beginning to get nervous, Gibbs strode in every direction, looking for his tall agent. A flash of gold caught his attention, drawing him over a few lanes into a line-up of Mustangs.

“Boss, do ya see it?” Tony whispered as he ghosted his hands over the hood of a ’66 Mustang convertible.

The last ’66 Mustang convertible Gibbs had seen was the still smoking husk of Tony’s car. The smell of burnt rubber, plastic and flesh had never entirely left his nose. Looking at the car, Gibbs felt his heart wrench sideways a bit as he remembered what almost befell his agent that day, knowing it was only through Fate’s capricious whims that Tony was here today.

“Isn’t it great, Boss?”

“Yeah, Tony. A classic.” 

While he watched Tony’s eyes shine in excitement as he wistfully followed the contours of the car, Gibbs reflected on Doctor Curtis’ words during their discussion at her first visit after Palmer had taken Tony upstairs: _‘While I’m not saying it’s entirely a bad thing, I am concerned with Tony’s dependence on Agent Gibbs.’_ Gibbs had bristled at the comment then and still felt defensive about it even now, but he understood the doctor’s concerns. 

Speculatively surveying the enclosed fairgrounds and the light early Sunday attendance, Gibbs suggested, “Hey, DiNozzo, you wanna go check out the cars by yourself for a couple of hours? We can meet back at the cars at noon for lunch.”

Tony looked more than a little taken aback at the suggestion. “You don’t want to look at the cars, Boss?”

Swallowing his qualms, Gibbs did his best to sound nonchalant. “Oh, no, I’m gonna look at them, too, but this way you can take your time looking at what you want. You don’t have to if you don’t wanna… I’d like to look at some older stuff you might find boring.”

“Boss, cars could never be boring, except maybe Saturns. What about Abby and McGee?” Tony still sounded doubtful as his eyes darted around to gauge the crowd. He was still very unsure in large groups, much preferring to deal with them at Gibbs’ elbow, and, even faced with Gibbs’ confidence in him, wasn’t sure he was ready to face even the widely dispersed gathering alone.

“I’ll call them with the change in plans. We can catch up with them at lunch and then hit the vendors; I know Abs is looking for a few things for the hearse. If you need me for anything before then, you can call me.”

Tony stuck his hands deep into his pockets as he considered Gibbs’ proposal, finally nodding reluctantly in agreement. With a little prodding from Gibbs, he grinned and headed off to see the General Lee replica further down their row.

For a while Gibbs paced Tony’s movements to be sure he was handling the freedom as well as possible. Gibbs observed the way Tony courteously worked his way through the crowds, conscientiously checking his phone every few minutes for the time and double-checking his position in relation to their cars. Once he was reassured Tony was okay, Gibbs allowed himself the simple pleasure of wandering the rows of classic cars, peeking under the hoods and reminiscing. He was proud of himself that he only sought Tony out twice the entire time and only when he felt that faint heart dip that absolutely demanded attention. Both times he had found his agent enthralled by a car, yet both times the golden brown head had risen and met his eyes across the distance, beaming brightly at the nod of acknowledgement before Gibbs turned and pretended to admire whichever car he was standing next to.

Suspiciously following the smell of burning grass, Gibbs finally tagged up with Abby and McGee in the hot rod section as the volunteers frantically stomped out the last of the small embers caused by Abby’s exhaust. 

Pursing her lips together, Abby made every effort to look contrite while still smugly soaking up the admiration from some of the other enthusiasts. _–Any chance you brought marshmallows?-_

 _-What did we agree on?-_ Gibbs sternly signed from the other side of the crowd circling the excitement as the smoke cleared.

_-But, they were begging me to show them!-_

_-Abby!-_

_-Where’s Tony?-_

_-Trying out his wings-_

_-Gibbs, that’s so sweet!-_

Seeing Gibbs, McGee shouted, “Uh, Boss? I… uh, I tried to discourage her!”

_-Tell McGee it’s not his fault-_

Abby whispered into McGee’s ear, making the young man pale and look nervously at Gibbs.

_-Abby!-_

Abby grinned. _–I can’t ‘hear’ you, Gibbs! Too much smoke!-_

Gibbs crooked his finger at the pair of them then led off towards his own car without a backwards glance. By the time they reached the Challenger, it was past Tony’s check in time. Worriedly, Gibbs strained his eyes in every direction, looking for him. Fighting to stave off the panic, on a hunch, he left Abby and Tim waiting at the cars while he worked his way towards an area he had noticed a large club had cordoned off. There, amidst a sea of Corvettes, stood his wayward agent, his eyes fastened on a baby blue metallic ZR1.

Slowly sidling up alongside Tony so he wouldn’t startle him, Gibbs observed, “She’s a beaut.”

Tony looked over in surprise then nodded reverently. “It’s like she’s moving standing still, isn’t it, Boss? I prefer the ’90 to the ’92, but she caught my eye. They fired her up a little while ago – she’s got a Flowmaster exhaust!”

Gibbs nodded in appreciation. With a jerk of his head towards their cars, he suggested, “Think you’re ready to join us for lunch?”

Tony pulled out his cell phone to check the time only to pale when he saw he was a half hour late. Gibbs’ hand gripping his bicep kept him from dipping to his knees. “Sorry, Boss! I was watching the time, honest!”

“Don’t worry about it; I know you were, DiNozzo. Let’s go get something to eat!”

With a renewed bounce in his step, Tony trotted alongside Gibbs, excitedly chattering about everything he had seen and done so far. When they reached their cars, Abby swept into Tony’s arms, asking him about his adventures then telling him about her own mishap, replete with a blow by blow, reenacted description of McGee’s reaction to the ensuing grass fire, then insisting he show Tony his scorched shoes. As they laughed over lunch, Gibbs couldn’t help but wonder at the carefree day he would never have thought was possible a little better than a month and a half ago…

000

  



	23. Chapter 23

  


With a flick of his wrist Gibbs scored another point for his team, collecting high fives from Tony and Abby with a grin. Brad Pitt cleared the basketball from the end zone, passing it to Jimmy who backhanded it to McGee through Abby’s legs, drawing a chuckle from Ducky, who was lounging in a lawn chair next to Ziva. With the good weather and a weekend off, they had arranged a spur of the moment cookout and soon found themselves in heated competition in the driveway when Brad appeared with a basketball for Tony. 

By the time all the men had stripped down to shorts, they had given up keeping score and contact rules had gone out the window as well. While everyone tried their best to not bump Tony too forcefully in deference to his ongoing balance issues, he still was on the receiving end of some rowdy ball playing and had started to reciprocate in turn.

Laughter filled the small driveway as they enjoyed the easy camaraderie away from the office and the horrors of their jobs. McGee dodged Abby, hurriedly passing the ball to Jimmy when she suddenly grabbed his shorts and pulled, taking both the shorts and McGee out at the knees and bringing them both down in a laughing tangle. Jimmy looked up from the two bodies in the middle of the driveway to see Gibbs closing fast. He feinted right into Tony, clumsily passing the ball towards Brad just as Gibbs intercepted his pass. Clearing the ball to Tony, Gibbs covered his second as Abby rushed to join back into the game. An easy hook shot sealed the deal.

“Nothing but net!” Abby crowed as she hugged her teammates.

A dark sedan suddenly screeched to a halt next to the driveway, then another on the other side. A third car pulled in at an angle, cutting off access to the road. Dropping the basketball, everyone scrambled to see what the cause of the commotion was, with Jimmy, Abby and Brad finding themselves pushed behind the experienced agents. The car doors all opened and men in dark suits climbed out to stand next to their vehicles.

Flanked by both of his junior agents and with Tony at his shoulder, Gibbs stood in the middle of his driveway, his arms crossed in annoyance while Tobias Fornell and Ron Sacks emerged from the closest car. Shouting over his shoulder, Fornell ordered the other agents to establish a perimeter before directing his attention towards the small group standing in the driveway. Behind him, Gibbs felt a change in the air, the warmth of the sun where Tony’s shadow had just been, as he heard Jimmy Palmer’s voice ask worriedly,

“Tony, are you okay?”

Spinning to see what the problem was, Gibbs saw Tony blindly backing away from the two FBI agents with terror-stricken eyes. “Tony?” he asked softly. Glancing over his shoulder, Gibbs barked, “Stay where you are for a minute, Tobias! This had damn well better be good!”

Turning back, Gibbs saw his friends had closed ranks around Tony where he shyly peered at him around Jimmy. With a nod at the house, Gibbs helped them trundle Tony inside and onto the couch. Ducky wordlessly handed Tony a glass of water and encouraged him to drink it while Gibbs gave instructions to McGee and Ziva through the open door. When Gibbs returned, he sat next to Tony, carefully assessing him before he asked, “What’s wrong?”

Struggling to control his breathing, Tony explained, “They locked me up, Boss.”

“Locked you up?”

“Asked all kinds of questions. Put me in a cage…”

“That was that stupid Chip!” Abby complained. “Tony, you were innocent and they let you go. There’s nothing to worry about!”

“But, why are they here now?” Tony looked beseechingly at Gibbs. “Boss, they aren’t gonna take me away, are they?”

“You aren’t going anywhere. Sit tight. Let me talk with Tobias and see what’s going on.”

Gibbs stormed out of his house to find Fornell and Sacks squared off with Ziva and McGee. Pulling Tobias aside, he demanded, “What the hell’s going on?”

Fornell shook his head. “We got intel Zaccharia knows DiNotzo’s alive and back in Virginia. Vance was contacted and approved an immediate joint protection detail.”

“You couldn’t have called me? You know Tony’s still recovering! You’ve got him scared half to death in there!”

“Couldn’t be avoided, Jethro. I tried calling but it went right to voicemail. We got here as fast as we could.”

Muttering under his breath, Gibbs dug into his pocket for his cell phone, grimacing in annoyance at the blank screen. “Damn thing must be set to silent again. McGee, reboot this for me.” He flipped the phone to his agent, who caught then looked at the offending phone with a confused frown. “So, what are we looking at?”

“We’ve got Zaccharia on the run; he’s scrambling to save whatever he can, so he’s been tying up loose ends and leaving a trail of bodies behind him. We’ve kept that warehouse in Norfolk under surveillance since your people cleared it out. A few guys showed up there yesterday and, when we brought them in, one of them cracked and told us he told Zaccharia he saw DiNotzo at a car show.”

“Damn it all to hell!” Gibbs spun and paced away a few steps to digest the news. With no sightings of Zaccharia since the raids, he had never expected to have to worry about this while Tony recovered. Turning to face Fornell, he asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

“We’ll take him to a safe house. Get him somewhere he can get the treatment he needs while we find Zaccharia.” Off Gibbs’ definitive head shakes, Fornell pressed, “He isn’t safe here, Jethro! Zaccharia’s been getting sloppy – we’re bound to bring him in soon, but he’s definitely close enough to be a real threat. As far as we can tell, your boy’s his primary target. He brought Zaccharia’s empire down!”

“He’s not going anywhere, Tobias! He’s safe right here.”

“Jethro, I have high level approval on this, don’t make me call this in…”

“I’m his legal guardian, Tobias. That’s as high as you have to worry about. If I say he doesn’t go, he doesn’t go. And he’ll tell you the rest himself.”

“Jethro…”

Gibbs got right into Fornell’s face, leaning in with his fists balled at his sides. The rest of the agents watched warily as the tendons and veins in Gibbs neck became obvious even from a distance. Pointing at the house, Gibbs tersely enunciated in a low growl, “All Tony knows is that house. It’s where he feels safe and where he wants to stay. I Will Not uproot him at this time! If you wish to protect him, fine but only on MY terms. If that isn’t good enough for you, we’ll protect him ourselves!”

After facing off, toe to toe, for several minutes, with a conciliatory dip of his head, Fornell conceded the point. “Okay, we do things your way. Let me be on record as saying you’re a damned fool, though, even if I agree with your rationale.”

Gibbs allowed Fornell a thin smile.

Gesturing towards the agents arrayed in the driveway, Fornell asked, “How do you want to deploy them? I’m guessing you’ll be adding your own team to the rotation.”

“Have your people work the perimeter for the time being. We can go inside and work the rest of it out.”

Fornell tipped his head to Sacks, indicating what to do while he followed Gibbs into the house. Gibbs flashed a few hand signals to McGee and Ziva reiterating Fornell’s orders and watched with proud satisfaction when they dutifully responded by breaking off from each other to ensure the perimeter was secured. Arriving in the house, the two senior agents found the balance of Gibbs’ team still congregated in the den. Tony appeared to have calmed somewhat but Fornell’s appearance did not pass without a new flurry of trepidation from the couch.

“Gibbs, can’t he stay outside?” Abby begged petulantly.

“Gotta work on the security detail, Abs. Tony…” At the bowed head he barked, “DiNozzo!” When the head obediently snapped up, Gibbs asserted, “We’re staying right here – you’re not going anywhere. Got it?!” He held his glare steady until the hesitant nodding was accompanied by a soft,

“Yes, Boss.”

“Good. Tobias is just here to help keep you safe.”

“Boss, is my Master coming back?”

With a grateful glance that Fornell managed to hide his curiosity behind his poker face, Gibbs answered, “No. The man who sent you to him found out you’re back. Until the FBI can catch him, they want to be sure he can’t find you.”

“My father’s after me?” Tony asked in confusion.

“No, your father has nothing to do with it. Someone else. Don’t worry about it; we’ve got it under control.”

Looking over his shoulder from where he knelt in front of Tony, Ducky enquired, “Jethro, however did they discover Anthony was back?”

“Car show,” Fornell supplied. “One of Zaccharia’s associates saw him there.”

Tony’s face fell with the news, grabbing Gibbs’ attention immediately. “Tony, do you remember something?”

“Two men were standing at my car for a long time. I didn’t know who they were but didn’t want to go near them because I was afraid they wanted my car…”

“Why did you think that? There were a lot of people looking at cars there.”

Tony shook his head. “Nothing I could pin down, Boss. They didn’t look interested in looking at my car; they looked like they were looking for whoever was with the car to negotiate or something.”

“Do you remember what they looked like?”

Tony shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want to attract their attention but I got a good look at them.”

The slamming of the screen door made everyone jump. Gibbs’ and Fornell’s hands both instinctively reached for their waists as Ducky rested a hand on Tony’s wrist to calm him. Ron Sacks came through the front hall only to get blown back by his superior’s ire.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sacks? We’re on a protection detail! Do ya think it might be a good idea to not go slamming doors? Go to the car and get the mug shots from this week; I need DiNotzo to go over them for us.”

Sacks frowned and stared accusingly at Tony, his eyes raking up and down him with an upraised eyebrow before he turned on his heel and slammed back out of the house.

“You’re gonna have to reel your man in if he’s gonna have anything to do with this detail,” Gibbs cautioned in irritation.

“He’ll toe the line,” Fornell reassured his friend. “Now, how do you want to do this?”

Gibbs beckoned Fornell to a corner of the room, where they could speak more candidly. “My agents will be with Tony in the daytime. I don’t want any agents, aside from my own, inside the house when I’m not home. I can bring Tony to work sometimes, too, as the need arises. Tony’s usually here with Gerald, but he does have appointments a few times a week with his physical and respiratory therapists, Doctor Curtis or Brad; they’re all at Bethesda, which can be kept secure, so the guard detail will have to maintain security mostly during the drive.” 

While his mind flashed to the twisted wreck of Shannon’s bullet-riddled minivan, Gibbs paused to suppress the involuntary shudder as he stressed, “Tobias, I don’t care what you tell them but your men have got to watch themselves on the road. They’re to use at least two cars every time he goes out – no exceptions! And, they’re to check in with me at least on each end of their trip and if they hit any delays. If I hear they’re not taking it seriously, you’re gonna have me to deal with! We’re also gonna need someone Tony can handle having around for the night shift. I don’t want to disrupt him any more than necessary.”

“Sacks and I can take the interior night shifts, if you think that’s okay. We’ll take turns, with the man off crashing on the couch in the study. Otherwise, we’ll have the perimeter maintained 24/7.”

A few minutes later, Sacks agitatedly stalked back into the house with a folder in his hands. He mutely handed it to Tony where he had wandered to the kitchen counter with Palmer.

Uncertainly accepting the folder, Tony asked timorously, “Y…you’re Fornell’s boy?”

Outrage sparked from Sacks’ eyes. “I’m nobody’s boy!”

His eyes widening even further, Tony recoiled from the agent’s outburst as Jimmy jumped to his defense, “He didn’t mean it that way. He doesn’t remember you and is just confirming who you are. You’re Fornell’s agent – that’s all he means.”

Sacks scowled as his eyes lingered on Tony’s sweaty torso. “Yeah, I’m his partner.”

“You look at all case subjects this way, Sacks?” Gibbs grumbled under his breath in the agent’s ear where he had crept up behind him.

Tearing his eyes away from Tony, Sacks looked to his superior for support.

Leaning on the room divider where he could monitor the conversation, Fornell sardonically observed, “You gotta admit, Jethro, since he put some of the weight back on, it’s hard to take your eyes off him.” He snorted as Gibbs bristled at his comment. “Of course, that doesn’t mean we should be making these observations… Sacks, stand down; go find a seat in the other room. If I catch you looking at him like that again, you won't know what hit you.”

Once Sacks left for the den, Gibbs herded Tony towards the stairs. “Go wash up,” he instructed calmly. “It looks like we’ll be having company for a while.”

“Agent Gibbs, would you like me to stay?” Palmer offered hopefully.

“We’ve got it under control, Palmer. I think it’s time for everybody to go home for now -- let things settle down.” Gibbs herded the crowd out the door then checked with McGee and Ziva before sending them home as well.

By the time Tony returned from his shower, everyone had left, leaving a small squad of FBI agents outside and Fornell and Sacks inside. His eyes lowered and darting around the room nervously, Tony edged into the living room with one eye on the two FBI agents. Agent Sacks made him especially nervous with his constant staring, even when Agent Fornell corrected him. For the moment at least, it appeared Tony’s Boss was going to tolerate their presence despite the arguments hurled back and forth between him and Fornell earlier. Now that everyone else had gone home, it was just the four of them in the house and Tony wasn’t sure how to handle the situation.

Seeing Gibbs’ empty coffee cup, Tony took the excuse to do something. Retrieving the coffee pot from the machine, he carefully refilled his cup with a slight bow at his Boss’ thanks as he had been taught before shyly offering it to the two FBI agents. Relieved they didn’t want any, he returned the pot to the machine then wandered back into the living room. At a loss for what to do, Tony gracefully knelt next to his Boss’ legs, leaning ever so slightly on them; he was so shaken by the events of the afternoon, he was in need of the reassuring contact and the familiar actions.

Quirking an eyebrow of warning at the two shocked agents, Gibbs rested one hand on Tony’s head and bent low to ask him, “You okay?”

Arching his neck, Tony looked him directly in the eyes and nodded.

Seeing by the fear in his wide eyes confirmation of how deeply Tony had been affected by the FBI’s arrival, Gibbs shot a frustrated glare at Fornell before asking Tony, “What’s on your mind?”

“I can’t go back there, Boss. If that man sends me back…” Tony’s gaze slid away as he admitted softly, “Master said if I escaped again, he’d…”

“He’d what?” Gibbs encouraged, too quiet for the FBI agents to hear.

“After he punished me, he’d…” Pressing his knees together, Tony’s eyes dropped to his lap then back up to Gibbs in time to see his jaw tighten in anger.

Remembering the threat the swordsman had made, Gibbs bit out, “Tony, we’ve confirmed he’s dead. A Seal team identified his body during recon. I've told you before and I mean it; he’s not coming back and YOU are not going anywhere.” Struggling to remain composed, Gibbs asked, “You escaped before?”

Tony nodded readily. “Twice that I can remember.”

“What happened?”

Tony’s eyes traveled to a far corner of the room. They phased out of focus as he detachedly recounted, “The first time, I was captured in one of the outer pastures. After he beat me, Master gave me to the guard who caught me to do whatever he wanted with me until sunrise as long as he didn’t ruin me for my Master. The second time, I got a couple miles away before they found me. Once they hunted me down, they tied me up and threw me over a horse to bring me back. After Master had the guard who was on duty killed, before they cut me down off the horse, he had my feet branded as punishment and to teach me my place on my knees.”

Gibbs blanched at the story. Ducky had shown him the odd matching scars on Tony’s feet during his stay at Bethesda but he hadn’t realized the catalyst for them. Ducky had explained how fortunate Tony had been that they had not been too deep, considering all the ligaments which were just under the surface of the skin in that location. The doctors were amazed the twice daily barefoot jogs on a dirt path did not exacerbate those injuries where thick scars had apparently originally calloused over, then been worn smooth.

“You don’t belong on your knees, DiNozzo. You wanna come up and sit next to me?”

With a nervous glance at the two agents over the top of his Boss’ knees, Tony shook his head. He was content to just sit and space out, it was almost like meditation to him and he had learned how to do it for hours on end without moving or going totally crazy. He needed to tune out everything around him and find his inner balance without the distractions of the new menace he had to face or the curious stares from the two FBI agents. As Gibbs planted his foot a little more firmly and pressed back, reassuring him with his presence, Tony subtly snaked an arm around his ankle to anchor himself. While his Boss absently carded his fingers through his hair as he read his book, Tony allowed his mind to drift; he couldn’t help but wish for his old life back – surely, compared to what he was dealing with now, it was boring…

000

  



	24. Chapter 24

  


Traffic. Too much traffic. On a good day, at this time of morning the Beltway was a nightmare -- closing the road after an attack on an FBI convoy would impact traffic patterns throughout the city for the remainder of the day. All this, however, was not what Special Agent Gibbs was concerned with right now; what he needed was a way to get around the traffic jam to get to his people. 

Without a word of warning, Gibbs veered into the median, rocketing the sedan over the rough ground in his urgency to reach the scene as soon as possible. Next to him, Ziva grimly held on for dear life while dirt churned past their windows. The call had come in just as the two of them had emerged from MTAC after going over some new intel on Zaccharia. On his orders, a helicopter and several other NCIS teams had been scrambled to the scene as well.

His blood boiling in his veins, Gibbs jumped the curb back onto the freeway, threaded the Charger between emergency vehicles then screeched to a halt next to the torn guardrail on the other side. Jumping from the sedan, he used his badge ahead of him as a talisman as he wrestled his way past the emergency workers flooding the scene. A soft breeze brought the smell of copper and scorched oil up the hill. Looking down the steep shoulder, he could see the chassis of the black FBI-issued Suburban, its wheels still spinning as thin tendrils of smoke wended their way towards the sky from the front end of the vehicle. 

Nimble as a gazelle, Ziva leapt past him, hurdling the hatchback door lying hidden just below the crest of the shoulder which had been wrenched off in the accident as she raced down the uneven ground towards the wreck. His knee protesting when his ankle rolled on the rim of a hole as he rushed to follow, Gibbs scrambled down the hill sideways. His gut clenched even tighter as he saw the firefighters cover a body near the wreckage with a sheet. Not the sneakers Tony and Gerald favored nor the thicker soles Tim preferred – another agent, perhaps? But, why wasn’t Tim driving?

As soon as he reached the SUV, Gibbs could see the open driver’s door and much of the driver’s side was peppered with shot. Flashbacks of a similar pattern on his minivan raced through his thoughts as any uncertainty this was not the vehicle Tony, Gerald and Tim would be in was eliminated when he noticed Tony’s backpack lying near the visor in a pile of glass where the windshield had imploded when the SUV had cartwheeled upside-down before becoming impaled on a large tree. Unable to see past the driver’s seat because of the thick branches which had been thrust through the passenger compartment in the impact, Gibbs’ heart sank as his head snapped around to desolately consider the blood-soaked sheet nearby then swiftly scanned the rest of the scene. On the other side of the vehicle, he could hear the Jaws of Life and hydraulic jacks lifting the heavy SUV while chain saws ripped into the tough elm.

With the underbrush tangling around his ankles, tripping him up and pulling him down, the senior agent awkwardly climbed around the vehicle towards the apparent rescue effort. Her eyes bleak and lips quivering, Ziva met him halfway as she blocked her superior and tried to steer him away with her slight body. She wordlessly rested a hand on his arm, tugging slightly as he skirted her to rush towards the two bodies he could see partially hidden within the Suburban. Desperately pushing his way through the knot of rescue workers as briars pricked at his legs and feet, he reached in to grasp the blood-soaked hair, pulling it back to cradle the pallid face staring blankly back at him.

“NO!” Gibbs shot up from a sound sleep to find the sweat-soaked sheets bunched in a knot around his ankles. Realizing it was just a nightmare as his room came into focus, he dragged a shaking hand across his face then through his hair while he tried to calm his breathing.

“Boss?” With a glance over his shoulder, Tony sat up abruptly at the sight of Gibbs panting in the moonlight. “Are you okay?”

Gibbs nodded as he sought his voice. He gripped Tony’s shoulder tightly, gently kneading the reassuringly warm flesh.

Sitting up on his haunches, Tony asked worriedly, “Is there anything I can do, Boss?”

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Gibbs assured him, “No. I’m fine, DiNozzo.”

Tony rocked back onto his heels to consider him curiously, his expressive eyes unwavering.

“What?” Gibbs asked a bit too gruffly.

The eyes drifted away while Tony chewed his lower lip uncertainly. He shook his head before shyly returning the scrutiny from behind a fall of hair.

Softening his voice, Gibbs pursued, “What’s on your mind, Tony?”

“Not my place…” Tony averred.

“Tell me. It’s okay – I want to know.”

A hesitant glance skittered in his direction then veered away to stare into the darkness. When Gibbs wouldn’t relent, while he bundled the sheets up from the foot of the bed, Tony softly hedged, “Are you really fine, Boss?” He flinched at the silence as his impertinent question echoed in the room.

Caught off-guard by the question, Gibbs allowed a slight smile. “Yeah, I’m okay. Bad dream.” Frowning at the way Tony guardedly watched him, he added, “Thanks for asking. We've got a busy day tomorrow; let’s try to get some sleep.”

A soft rap on the door preceded Agent Sacks enquiring, “Everything okay in there?”

“We’re fine,” they responded in unison only to share a secret grin. The two men remained silent until the FBI agent’s light tread could be heard descending the stairs.

Sobering, Tony meekly asked, “Do you think he’s gonna find me, Boss?”

Startled that Tony had perceived what his nightmare had been about even as he knew he shouldn’t be, Gibbs asserted, “Not if I have anything it say about it, DiNozzo.”

000

When morning dawned, while the FBI did some work on the house, wiring it for surveillance and a panic button, Gibbs opted to bring Tony to work rather than leave him in the midst of the hubbub. If he admitted it to himself, Jethro simply couldn’t bear having Tony out of his sight, especially after the recurring dreams the night before, each one with a different face staring back at him; Shannon, Kelly, Tony, Tim, Ziva, even Abby, Ducky and Palmer had made cameo appearances in his worst nightmares. With the new threat towards one of their people, NCIS was on high security alert, making the building a relatively safe haven. While one team of FBI agents stayed at Gibbs’ house to maintain the perimeter, a pair of burly agents had followed Gibbs and Tony to work and then stationed themselves near the window in the squad room. 

Gibbs had argued against their being so close to Tony, who was obviously uncomfortable with the attention, but had grudgingly yielded to Fornell when he had stepped in on his men’s behalf as long as the men kept a reasonable distance away from him. For his part, with all the pressure he was under, Tony stayed glued to his desk with his back to the window and the men on guard there, resolutely playing games on his cell to try to distract himself. Gibbs didn’t miss the frequent nervous interludes, when Tony’s head would suddenly shoot up to urgently scan the room and then seek out Gibbs before hesitantly dropping back to his phone. A well aimed wad of paper got his senior field agent’s attention, allowing for an even better aimed steadying look. Tipping his chin up, Gibbs smiled in approval when Tony swallowed hard and mimicked the gesture, his eyes sliding sideways to observe his two teammates absorbed in their work as some of the tension left his body. 

To ensure Tony’s calm wouldn’t be disrupted, Ziva slipped out to pick up an early lunch to eat at their desks. The two junior agents scooted their chairs over to Tony’s desk to eat campfire style, stealing each other’s fries and pickles to help lighten the mood. Midway through their meal, just as Tony had begun to join in the camaraderie, the team was called out on the case; there had been a sighting down by the docks in Southern Baltimore with two more bodies attributed to Zaccharia. As they geared up, Gibbs paused at Tony’s desk to ensure, once he finished eating, he would take his medication and head down to Abby’s lab until they returned before the lead agent called Ducky to give the scene address. Tony nodded reluctantly; even with his Boss’ reassurances, he felt insecure without Gibbs’ immediate presence with everything going on.

Tossing the remainder of his sandwich into the trash, Tony gathered up his backpack and headed for the elevator, finding, to his dismay, the two bodyguards falling into step behind him. While he was living with Bouvier, he was constantly shadowed by guards and these two huge, dark-suited men, however much everyone asserted they were only there to keep him safe, unnerved him horribly. The mere thought of being sandwiched between the two men in the enclosed elevator was enough to make him veer off towards the staircase.

“Why are we taking the stairs?” one of the men asked.

“You can take the elevator, if you want,” Tony glibly offered. “I’m headed for the subbasement. I’ll meet you there.”

“How many flights is that?” the more stocky man asked irritably as he held the door for his partner.

Without breaking stride, Tony looked over his shoulder, taking in the paunch. “Just a few. It’s good exercise.”

The man’s partner snorted in amusement before stifling any further comment in deference to the glare he received as he followed his subject down the stairs. When Tony reached the fire door leading to the subbasement, with a word followed by a staying hand that stopped him in his tracks when it got too close for comfort, one of the bodyguards protectively stepped around him to open the door, only to recoil at the bloodcurdling screech emanating from the hallway. 

As his bodyguards blocked his way to the sanctuary of the forensic labs, one of the men asked out loud, “What the hell is that?”

Cocking his head to one side in thought, Tony affirmed, _“The Rabid Monkeys.”_

“Yeah? No kidding -- NCIS does experiments on animals?” one of the guards asked incredulously as he shouted over the din while his hands strayed defensively towards his ears, letting the heavy fire door slam shut with a bang.

“No. It’s a band. Abby’ll turn it down when we get in there.”

“That’s music?”

Grinning, Tony nimbly stepped around the two men to pull open the door and confidently stride into the hallway as the two bodyguards scrambled to fall into position next to him.

000

If there was one constant in Leon Vance’s life, it was that the subbasement floor had a tendency to be as noisy as an aircraft carrier deck. He had learned early on in his tenure as Director that the cacophony Abigail Scuito seemed to need for inspiration was a necessary evil, if Agent Gibbs was to be believed. However, the noise he was hearing today on his usual noontime stroll through his domain wasn’t what the forensic scientist termed music, but, instead, the sound of a contentious argument. Curiously veering into the lab, he found Abby, her arms akimbo, firmly squaring off with the two FBI agents assigned to DiNozzo, each of them yelling over the others in an effort to be heard. In one corner near the door to Abby’s inner office, Tony DiNozzo stood uncertainly, his backpack straps firmly clenched in both hands. 

Tony noticed Vance first. Paling slightly, his gaze immediately dropped to the floor as he bowed his head in greeting.

Vance placidly returned the nod before injecting himself into the argument. “Anyone care to tell me what’s going on?”

Suddenly realizing who was standing next to her, Abby snapped to attention as she took a giant step back and stiffly pivoted to face the Director. Seeing her reaction, the two FBI agents fell silent as they regarded the new arrival warily.

“Director Vance,” Abby greeted agitatedly. She smirked in triumph when she saw the two bodyguards draw themselves up to their full heights when they heard who they were facing.

“Miss Scuito, what is this all about?”

Pressing her lips together as she shot an annoyed look at the two agents, she answered, “They said Tony can’t stay here, Leon, but Gibbs was called out and said he was supposed to come down to visit me after he took his pills like he always does when he’s here and he took his pills as soon as he got here to use my futon and Bert is all ready for him and they said he couldn’t sleep in my lab, but he needs to lie down because the pills make him really, really sleepy and he can’t do it at his desk because he gets all cricked up and Ducky is out on a call with Gibbs but he can’t really sleep in Autopsy anyways because it’s too cold for his lungs—“

Raising his hands to forestall her, Vance pleaded, “Enough!” Once Abby had rocked back onto her heels to silently blink at him, he asked, “So, someone, run this by me again, why can’t Agent DiNozzo stay down here?”

One of the bodyguards gestured towards the arched windows lining the upper wall of Abby’s lab. “There’s no way to defend him with those windows at the street level, Director.”

“They’re the best bullet-resistant glass available!” Abby interrupted.

At Abby’s comment, Tony’s eyes snapped towards the windows then followed the steep late morning beams of light to where they were shimmering on Abby’s hair, accentuating the smooth gloss of her ebony locks and granting her a somewhat lopsided halo.

“You do understand the entire Navy Yard is under tight security because of this threat?” Vance asked. 

“Our supervisor just informed us there is an unsecured park in a direct line of sight to these windows.”

Looking curiously at the offending windows, the Director asked, “Is that so?” He didn’t miss the affronted glare Abby gave the two bodyguards.

“It is,” she reluctantly conceded. “But, the velocity required to breach these windows isn’t possible from that distance with any currently available rifle.”

“You do realize, Miss Scuito is one of the foremost authorities on ballistics,” Vance observed for the bodyguards’ benefit. Facing the two implacable stares, he suggested by way of compromise, “If it would be of any help, Agent DiNozzo is certainly welcome to use the couch in my office until Gibbs’ team gets back.”

Abby shook her head definitively. “He’s staying right here! The futon is in the other room, so these windows are a moot point.” She clenched her fists in annoyance as she muttered, “I’m so gonna get Toby for this…”

One of the FBI agents firmly took the lead, “Director, when he assigned us with this detail, Special Agent Fornell specifically told us…“

Standing well out of the way and seemingly forgotten, Tony pensively looked up to the windows as the argument continued. His vision narrowed as the room darkened until the only ambient light appeared to come from a few monitors and the refrigerator in the corner. Above him, the windows were pitch black and streaked with rain as a storm raged outside to match the roiling of his soul. Tony’s eyes widened at the sight of one window spider-webbed from a bullet from nowhere. His heart began to race…

Comfort turning to terror that she’d been taken from them, too. Groping hands on his chest, his butt. Grabbing, kneading. Must protect her at all cost. Then, his Boss coming to give him purpose, her comfort. 

There’s no such thing as bullet-proof glass, Gibbs! He heard in his mind’s eye as he realized with a shock what sort of jeopardy his presence could bring his friends. The dark of night suddenly transposed into the bright of day. Tony blinked. Instead of Abby crouched in a darkened corner, huddled in his Boss’ arms as he picked glass out of her hair, Abby was standing in a sunbeam, stormily faced off with his guards and Director Vance.

“I’ll go with the Director,” Tony interrupted, doing his best to stand firm under all their sudden scrutiny.

“Tony, you don’t have to—“

“Abs, I want to,” Tony insisted as he looked Vance directly in the eye.

Approaching him to gently grasp him by the elbows and turn him to face her, Abby asked uncertainly, “Are you sure?” She directed her eyes meaningfully towards Vance. Abby knew Tony’s relationship with Vance even before his disappearance was an uneasy one.

He tweaked a ponytail with a reassuring grin. “I’ll be fine.”

Abby hugged her friend tight. “I’ll call Gibbs. He’ll get them to back off!” She glared a dangerous promise at the bodyguards over Tony’s shoulder.

Accepting her hug, Tony murmured into her ear, “It’s okay; I don’t mind.” When she drew back slightly to purse her lips at him, he wistfully asserted, “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen to me, silly!”

With a glance at his watch, Director Vance noted, “If this is settled, I need to get back to my office. Agent DiNozzo, do you have everything you need?” At his agent’s nod, he turned to head back upstairs.

Accepting the quick peck on the cheek Abby granted him, Tony slipped out of her embrace and shrugged his backpack onto his shoulder before falling into step behind Vance, all the while doing his best to feign nonchalance if only for Abby’s benefit. The Director led his entourage out to the elevator, gesturing for the FBI agents to lead the way into the small car before settling into a comfortable stance at an angle to watch them all. He didn’t miss Tony’s trapped expression or the way he stepped as far as he could to the front of the car when the doors slid shut. 

Trying to suppress the nervousness threatening to overtake him, Tony kneaded the shoulder strap with one hand while his other hand opened and closed reflexively. When one bodyguard shifted slightly closer, the air nearly hummed with his apprehension. His eyes blinked rapidly until Vance gave the two FBI agents a subtle signal to back off as much as possible in the close confines. When they reached the floor to his office, Vance swept his arm in invitation, allowing Tony to escape first before he fell into step next to him. 

The bodyguards followed close behind as they entered the Director’s outer office. Cynthia looked up in surprise as they all trooped in.

Commanding both bodyguards’ attention as he reached for the knob to his inner office, Vance stated, “My office is secure -- you two can stay out here. Cynthia, Agent DiNozzo will be staying with me until Agent Gibbs’ team is back. Please, be sure he is not disturbed.”

“Of course, Director,” Cynthia agreed as she shared a smile with Tony.

“Director, my partner and I need to ensure the area is clear,” 

Vance looked at the agent impatiently. “Make it snappy. Agent DiNozzo, would you please join me?”

Suddenly sobering, Tony nodded and followed the Director into his office. They stood out of the way as the FBI agent thoroughly checked for any possible hiding places and ensured Tony would be safe before slipping back out of the office with a quiet snick of the door. Once the FBI agent left, Tony turned his attention to the Director.

Vance gestured towards his long couch on the far wall. “Make yourself comfortable, Agent DiNozzo.”

Perching lightly on the edge of the leather sofa, Tony set his backpack beside his feet and bowed his head. “Thank you, sir.”

“Agent DiNozzo…”

“Yes, sir?”

“Your bodyguards make you nervous?”

Tony looked at Vance from behind his lashes. “Yes, sir.”

“Do I make you nervous?”

Fumbling in his breast pocket, Vance thoughtfully popped a toothpick into his mouth as Tony considered his answer, not missing how Tony’s eyebrows rose when he did it.

”Boss said I could trust you,” Tony deflected.

“So, I do make you nervous.”

“A little, sir,” his agent admitted softly. 

“Do you remember me at all?”

“Only vague feelings, sir.”

“I guess we didn’t exactly start off on the right foot when we first met,” Vance observed more to himself.

Blinking owlishly at the Director, Tony asked, “Sir?”

Vance shook his head. “Nothing. Miss Scuito said you already took your medication?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why don’t you settle down, then, and get some rest? As soon as Gibbs is back, I’ll let him know you’re up here – I don’t anticipate them being too long; the site is only 45 minutes away with a sane driver driving and the FBI was already on scene. Put your feet up and make yourself at home. There’s ice water and juice in the fridge under the bar over there – help yourself. If you need anything and I’m out, you may ask Cynthia.”

Tony nodded his thanks and slipped his sneakers off before easing onto the sofa. He could already feel the medicine dulling his senses, making him feel especially vulnerable, so he was relieved when Vance quietly went to his desk and sat down to concentrate on paperwork without another word. Tony rested his head against the arm of the couch with one eye on his Boss’ boss. He hoped his Boss would understand his reasons for defying his orders but, if not, Abby’s safety was worth any punishment. Trepidation warred with exhaustion as he tried to relax in this office which gave him so many mixed feelings he couldn’t seem to sort out in the presence of a man he wasn’t sure he ever truly trusted. In no time at all, despite the gnawing misgivings, Tony was fast asleep.

Doing his best to ignore the continued scrutiny he could sense coming from the injured agent tensely curled on his couch, Leon concentrated on his paperwork. Most of this work he could do by rote – acquisition forms, transfer requests, intel reports and the odd closed case file. It had been a slow month until Zaccharia resurfaced and now the MCRT was occupied with hunting him down before he was able to go to ground again or track down DiNozzo to exact payback.

A long, drawn out sigh followed by an arm limply sliding off the couch alerted him that DiNozzo had finally yielded to the medication. Leon surreptitiously raised his eyes to ensure his agent was asleep. As the arm instinctively tucked tight to Tony’s chest, a shiver coursed through him while he drew his long legs up tight to his torso with a soft whimper. Leon frowned and rose to check on his man. When DiNozzo quivered again and senselessly bundled his arms together, the Director turned to rummage in a nearby drawer. He lifted out the afghan his mother crocheted for him when he was first serving in San Diego. One Mother’s Day, his wife had complained at dinner about the many nights he spent sleeping at the office when a crisis would arise; the following Christmas, his mother presented him with the afghan which was an especially cherished present since she had given up crocheting several years earlier when her arthritis had progressed to the point that she could no longer hold the hook to do the intricate work.

As Vance carefully draped the throw blanket over him with the practiced ease of a parent, DiNozzo’s eyes briefly flickered then settled with a contented sigh while a hand snaked out from under the afghan to pull it in snugly. Leon froze until his agent settled again before silently creeping back to his desk to continue to slog through his boring paperwork. With one last glance at the slumbering man, he couldn’t help but wonder at the turn of events which would leave Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo entrusted to his care.

000

  



	25. Chapter 25

  


Probationary Agent Ben Reardon scowled at the monitor screen. The numbers and facts just didn’t add up and Balboa had been after him all day to clear up the discrepancies. Reardon resented the constant reminders that he hadn’t yet sorted out the numbers – afterall, it wasn’t as if he had the time today, since they had been out all day chasing down a lead. Balboa was on edge and had been riding his entire team hard; a high-ranking Admiral was breathing down his neck looking for a fast resolution to where the missing money had gone and his team had found nothing concrete since they caught the case two days ago. Brushing his hand over his hair, Reardon looked up in annoyance when Balboa’s phone rang.

Hanging up with a harried frown, Balboa rose to announce, “Meeting with the Director. Now.” As his team rose behind him, he turned and quickly strode to the stairs.

Reardon didn’t understand why everyone used the stairs so much in this office when they had working elevators. Granted, the elevators seemed to be occupied more often than not, usually by Agent Gibbs’ team, who seemed to think they could monopolize them for their every whim. Between that and the men’s room, it was a wonder they were ever at their desks.

As they entered the Director’s outer office, Reardon saw Cynthia look up just as a large man rose from one of the chairs to join another standing guard at Director Vance’s door. Reardon eyed the two dark-suited men curiously; he didn’t remember there ever being guards there before and NCIS was a secure building, so he couldn’t help but ask, “What the heck are you two doing here?”

“Anthony DiNozzo’s security detail, sir,” snapped off one of the guards smartly.

“What did you arrest him for – impersonating a federal agent?” Reardon snarked.

“Tony wasn’t arrested,” Cynthia cooly corrected him as she picked up her phone to report Balboa’s team was there. “He's under their protection.”

Not the least bit chastened, Reardon asked in surprise, “He’s in with the Director?”

“I think he’s taking a nap,” one of the guards smirked.

Reardon’s eyebrows shot to his forehead. “ _A nap?!_ In the _Director’s office?_ ”

“Hey,” the other bodyguard chipped in. “It’s not for us to judge what goes on here, we’re with the FBI.”

Reardon brightened as his teammates scowled at him. “FBI? I bet your offices aren’t used like a daycare for former agents—“

“Reardon!” Balboa barked.

“If you gentlemen are all done, I would like to speak with my team now,” Vance intoned from where he stood at his open door. “And, unless any of you would like to be former agents, I would appreciate it if you would all keep your voices down,” Vance continued with a spare nod towards his office.

Reardon could just make out the blanket-covered form sprawled across the couch at the far end of the office from where he stood before the Director quietly closed the door behind himself.

“ _Conference Room 2_ is available, Director,” Cynthia offered.

“Good. If you’ll come with me…” Director Vance led off down the hall as Balboa and his team fell in line. Once they reached the conference room, Vance grabbed an available chair as he asked, “Special Agent Balboa, where are we with this case?”

Efficiently outlining the case, Balboa quickly brought the Director up to date. Once he was satisfied they were covering all the bases and keeping the Admiral in the loop, Vance dismissed them.

“Probationary Agent Reardon, you can stay,” Vance decreed as the rest of the team filed out.

“What can I do for you, Director?” Reardon tried to sound casual as he slid back into his seat.

“You’ve been here over four months now and we haven’t had an opportunity to touch base. I’m curious as to why you chose NCIS.”

“What do you mean, sir?”

Vance shrugged. “You don’t have any family connection to the military. What brought you to NCIS?”

Reardon’s mind scrambled for a reasonable answer. He remembered what his uncle had told him as he was choosing which agency to apply to: _‘Why be a small fish in a big pond when you can be a big fish in a small pond?’_ He had rationalized the smaller agency would give him better chances to advance, even if just by attrition. Then, with some luck and perhaps some acquired leverage, a lateral move into a more mainstream agency -- one any person on the street would immediately recognize and respect.

“NCIS was looking for IT specialists. I thought it was a good opportunity for me.”

Vance paused to frown at the answer, knowing if Gibbs ever heard it, he’d never hear the end of it. Snatching up a toothpick, he rolled it between his fingers as he leaned back in his chair to consider his agent. “How much do you know about Marines, Agent Reardon?”

“I’m not sure what you’re asking, sir.”

“Marines…” Off Reardon’s blank look, Vance pursued, “You seem to have some issues with Special Agent DiNozzo’s presence here.”

“Agent DiNozzo was a Marine?”

“No such thing as ‘was’,” Vance corrected, then added, “DiNozzo was never in the Marines, but Agent Gibbs is a former Gunny. _'Semper fi'_ isn’t simply a truncated Latin phrase.”

“I never thought it was, sir.”

“Be that as it may, the Marine credo is to never leave a man behind. Throughout his career at NCIS, Agent DiNozzo has exhibited this belief by his actions several times over, not the least of which during this current case and Agent Gibbs and his extended team are also expressing this philosophy in deed now by caring for a fallen member. Whether you agree with it or not, I expect you to respect it. One thing I cannot tolerate in this agency is anyone who cannot understand and appreciate this overriding mindset held by a significant percentage of our core constituency. Do I make myself clear?”

Reardon bristled as he ground out, “Absolutely, sir.”

000

Returning to his office, Leon wandered towards the couch to check on his visitor. DiNozzo was still sleeping deeply. Abigail Scuito had obviously visited during his absence, if the addition of the fleece blanket and stuffed hippo were any indication. Assured Tony seemed content, Vance quietly padded over to his desk and began sorting through his paperwork even as his thoughts kept drifting towards the slumbering agent.

Agents Gibbs and DiNozzo were two of his small agency’s most frustrating enigmas and, when they were factored together, as much as they both had earned his grudging respect, Vance still couldn't quite get a handle on what made them tick. Their relationship simply made his head ache. He rolled his toothpick to the side of his mouth, crushing the sodden wood between his molars as he thought. As he gnashed his teeth, the wood separated into fine, resilient birch fibers. They squished with each bite, sticking to his teeth slightly as he let up before munching back down on them. Eventually pulling the frayed stick out of his mouth, Leon frowned at the damp wood as it glistened in the sunlight.

Tossing it into the trash with a practiced flick of the wrist, the Director reached into the bottom drawer of his desk and drew a well-worn dossier from amongst the pending files. He had perused this record more times than he could count, once before he became Director and several times since. At first, he wanted this man to go be someone else’s problem; he had no patience or use for an agent such as him. When he became Director, Leon came to the grudging realization that the cocky veneer hid a top notch investigator and a steadfastly old fashioned yet impressively effective asset. While his loyalties left something to be desired, they were understandable; DiNozzo had worked with Gibbs for nearly a decade and his allegiance was to the man, not the agency which had nearly destroyed him.

Vance had seen enough responses to Gibbs’ charisma to know, even as he was an unapologetic bastard, the man inspired loyalty from nearly everyone he worked with. Nevertheless, DiNozzo was unique. Leon couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was between these two men despite his best efforts to quantify it. Even in San Diego he had heard mentions of Gibbs and his trusted Saint Bernard but he’d never have believed the extent of DiNozzo’s loyalty, and Gibbs’ in return, if he hadn’t seen it for himself. With all that said, Anthony DiNozzo would never be mistaken for Gibbs’ yes man. Time and again Vance had seen the senior field agent go toe to toe with his supervisor, often emerging victorious.

Now, with DiNozzo so seriously injured, Leroy Jethro Gibbs once again was unashamedly displaying in the most public way possible to what lengths he’d go for Anthony DiNozzo. Leon didn’t begrudge the senior agent any of his requests on DiNozzo’s behalf. The man had accrued enough personal and vacation time, despite using much of it up during his brief sabbatical a few years earlier, it was easy for him and HR to look the other way, especially with DiNozzo’s apparent popularity with some of the HR staff. Upon further reflection, Gibbs’ entire team had impressed the Director throughout this entire FUBAR operation and clean-up.

It had not passed Leon’s notice the parallels between the current situation and the case which led to the deaths of Gibbs’ wife and young daughter. When he finally broke down and read Gibbs’ entire file, Vance had been shocked when he came across that little known incident in Gibbs’ life. Even as it illuminated a few things about Leroy Jethro Gibbs, it also added new facets to the mystery. Leon couldn’t imagine ever losing Jackie and the kids in any way, but especially while so far from home, helpless to protect them. He could understand Gibbs’ insistence on the terms of DiNozzo’s protection detail even as the senior agent immersed himself in an effort to stop Zaccharia before he managed to find his man. 

Opening the file, Vance noticed that the top sheet was the approved request for indefinite medical leave – Cynthia must have added that since the last time he had reviewed it. Underneath were commendations; a thick layer of undercover files; promotions, including the bizarre yet now logical refusal of the position in Rota and an even thicker medical history which had HR climbing the walls every time another page was added. To the other side was an incredible amount of damning evidence of Jennifer Shepard’s misuse of both the agency and this particular man.

Leon was still dealing with the fallout of her mismanagement; the inmates still ran the asylum in places and he still did not know if all the holes had been sealed in the floundering ship he had inherited. Having previously been stationed on the West Coast, he was confident those offices were in good shape. The Agents Afloat were widely disbursed throughout the fleet, so he was comfortable that they too were essentially secure. From where he sat now, the DC office was in the most disarray. Gibbs and he had finally formed an uneasy truce. Leon hoped, with that alliance, the remainder of the staff stationed in NCIS headquarters would follow the senior supervisory agent’s lead.

With a light snick, his office door swung open far enough for a silver head to poke in. Blue eyes wordlessly questioned then sought the indicated couch before Gibbs quietly strode into the office and approached the desk.

“Thanks, Director.”

Vance’s eyebrows rose at Gibbs’ choice of address, earning a bemused smirk of acknowledgement as Gibbs rocked on his toes. 

“Find anything of use in Baltimore?”

Gibbs shook his head. “Only DiNozzo…” He shrugged. “Ducky’s got the bodies and we brought some stuff back for Abby, but I’m not holding my breath on this one.”

“That your famous gut talking?”

“The scene was pretty clean. Gunshots were similar to the other cases – execution style, hollow points. No witnesses—“

“Boss?” Tony’s guttural voice was still heavy with sleep as he fought his way out from under the blankets and slid off the smooth leather to dutifully kneel on the floor as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

“Hey.” Gibbs spun around to crouch next to Tony. “Sleep okay?”

Worried green eyes met his then returned to his knees. “I’m sorry I disobeyed you, Boss.”

“How’d you disobey me?”

“You told me to sleep on Abby’s futon.”

“Don’t worry about it, DiNozzo. The next time something comes up, though, I want you to call me, okay? I know how hard it must have been for you to come up here alone.”

“I just couldn’t let Abby get shot...”

“Abby’s not gonna get shot – who told you that?”

“It happened before—“

“What?”

“The window – at night. It was raining.”

Remembering those heart-wrenching days all too vividly, Gibbs chuffed softly. “We replaced the windows with bullet-proof glass after that—“

“There’s no such thing, Boss. Even I know that.”

“Okay, so bullet-resistant. You know, you’re starting to sound like Abby. Remember anything else?”

Tony shook his head disconsolately. “No. Nothing else, Boss. Well… Just being felt up by Abby – she liked my butt...”

000

“Where ya goin’, Tony?” Gibbs asked without raising his head.

Tony curiously examined his boss for a third eye on the top of his head as he stammered, “Just going to the head, Boss.” He grinned at the grunt of permission as he dodged around his desk and headed across the squad room. 

Much to Tony’s relief, once Gibbs and the team returned, his bodyguards had been dismissed to the Security Office despite Fornell’s objections, leaving Tony free to move around the squad room without the constant pressure of their presence.

Wandering back to his desk, Tony decided to take the circuitous route, wanting to satisfy his curiosity about the gallery on the back wall of the squad room he had noticed several times during his visits. Taking his time, he looked at the array of terrorists and murderers under the NCIS sign, intrigued by how so many of them didn’t look particularly dangerous. He catalogued the names, read the captions underneath detailing their misdeeds, and mulled their fates, until he came across one caption which took his breath away: 

_‘Wanted for the disappearance and suspected murder of a federal agent, conspiracy, murder, drug and weapons trafficking. Considered armed and dangerous.’_

Stepping back from the photo, Tony regarded the picture in shock. Salvatore Zaccharia – the man who wanted him dead. Tony searched his memory for any clue as to who this person was to no avail. Snippets of information danced just out of his reach in maddening whorls of a past he couldn’t imagine. Tony concentrated as hard as he could, trying to dredge something up from within, yet, the harder he tried, the more elusive the memories seemed to be. His head jerked over to look at her inquisitively when Ziva drifted over to appear at his elbow.

Her brows knit together, Ziva nodded towards the picture as she explained, “He is the man you were investigating when you disappeared.”

“The federal agent – it’s me, isn’t it?”

As she astutely watched him process that revelation, she nodded wordlessly. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed Gibbs was monitoring them from where he stood next to his desk. After meeting the piercing blue eyes for just a moment in acknowledgement, she turned back to her partner, who was once again mesmerized by the picture. “I believe you used to call him—“

 _“—The Bulldog,”_ Tony whispered more to himself. He looked up in shock at Ziva, over to Gibbs then back at the picture. Bunching his hands in frustration, he shook his head and sighed as Gibbs swiftly joined them. “I don’t remember anything else!” Staring at the ceiling, Tony circled away from them, returning to run his hands through his hair as he agitatedly confronted the picture once more. “Why can’t I remember anything, Boss?!” he shouted hoarsely, drawing attention from across the squad room. Coming to a resolution, he drew himself up to face Gibbs. “I need to know more; I need to see the case files.”

“No.”

“Boss, I need to see them!”

“The doc doesn’t want you to see them and I don’t think it’s a good idea either.”

“You can’t protect me forever!”

“I can sure as hell try! It’s too soon; you’re not ready.”

“I’m not ready or you’re not ready?”

The blue eyes pierced him, pinning him to the spot as they seemingly scrutinized his soul. Tony returned the attention without wavering, not backing down. As Gibbs allowed some pride to seep through the mask, Tony’s eyes widened at the tacit sign of approval.

“You’ve come a long way, DiNozzo, but the doc doesn’t want us to force the memories. If she gives the okay at your next appointment, I promise I’ll go over everything with you. Think you can work with that?”

With a wistful glance at the photo on the wall, Tony resignedly nodded in concession. The Bulldog leered back at him in triumph around his cigar.

000

  



	26. Chapter 26

  


_McGregor stared at his monitor in frustration. For all Saccharia obviously detested computers, the man could cook the books and hide information like an expert. McGregor had been working on the new numbers the FBI had uncovered all week and was still stymied by some of his results. From the muttered multilingual curses coming from across the bullpen, Agent Lisa wasn’t having any luck in her project either. McGregor looked curiously at the empty desk across from him; a few minutes earlier, Tibbs had a terse phone conversation with Tommy’s home health aide, Jackson, then disappeared into the elevator without another word to either agent. The appearance of Lance on the catwalk sent McGregor’s attention rushing back to his computer even as he noticed the small crowd growing next to the main elevator._

_With a ding, the elevator doors finally slid open to deposit Tibbs and a mutinous looking Tommy into the squad room. Tommy stormed into the bullpen behind his superior, angrily throwing his backpack behind his desk and melodramatically plopping himself down in the chair with a loud harrumph, while Tibbs placidly slipped into his own seat. McGregor watched all this silently, afraid of interrupting whatever was happening between the two men. For all Tommy’s emotions had been on a rollercoaster ride since returning from his captivity, McGregor reflected he had never turned them outwards towards the people surrounding him. Now, however, Tommy looked about ready to erupt in whomever’s face was fool enough to get in his way._

_With no outlet for his anger, his desk already ransacked and unable to concentrate on the games in his phone, Tommy rapidly grew bored, which helped cool his simmering anger somewhat. McGregor furtively watched in fascination as Tommy and Tibbs continued to occasionally spar with each other from their respective seats without a word being spoken between them. Before long, Tommy had surrendered to Tibbs’ unrelenting stare, crossed his arms on the desk, rested his head on them and had fallen fast asleep._

_When it came time for lunch, Tibbs gently awoke Tommy, readily accepting Tommy’s grudging look of apology with a light tap on the head which turned into an understanding stroke of absolution. By the time they returned from lunch, though still obviously preoccupied, Tommy seemed to have regained much of his usual good humor._

_Finishing up his own meal at his desk, McGregor threw his trash away before reporting, “I need to check some things down in Records, Boss,” then rose to head for the elevator._

_Looking over his shoulder as he left the bullpen, Agent McGregor was surprised to see Tommy pulling on his Agency cap as he hurriedly scooted along behind him. When he stepped into the elevator alongside him, McGregor asked, “Where are you going, Tommy?”_

_“Boss said I could tag along with you.”_

_“Down to Records?”_

_“I’m bored, McGregor,” Tommy stressed._

_“If Tibbs said okay, I don’t see why not.”_

_Tommy smiled and shrugged. “Let’s go then!” He watched attentively as McGregor punched the button to the Records floor. After placidly riding down, Tommy closely followed McGregor through the halls in the bowels of the building to the Records library._

_From where she sat behind her desk, Jean Dower looked up with a bright smile when she saw who her visitors were. “Tommy, it’s so good to see you! I was wondering when you would get around to visiting me.”_

_Tipping his cap back, Tommy gave her his most enchanting smile as he drawled, “Howdy! I’m very sorry it took me so long; I just don’t get down to these here parts too often.”_

_McGregor rolled his eyes as the two harmlessly flirted back and forth. It seemed the entire female population of NCIS, with the exception of Lisa who just reached for a hidden knife whenever anyone looked Tommy’s way, wanted to either be Tommy’s mother or his nurse._

_Elbowing Tommy slightly to one side, McGregor held out his memo. “Could I please have the records for these cases, Jean?”_

_Reluctantly taking her eyes from Tommy’s dazzling smile, Jean nodded and dashed between the stacks of paperwork to reappear a short while later with a towering pile of reports. “Sorry they aren’t online yet – we have a bit of a backlog currently.”_

_Stepping back from where he had positioned himself to watch her collect the files, Tommy relieved her of the pile with a chivalrous bow. “I’ll take those, little lady,” he grinned._

_“Thanks, Tommy,” Jean giggled, dropping her eyes demurely as her cheeks colored. “If you guys are all set, I’m headed out for my lunch hour. If you have any questions, you can have Dispatch contact me.”_

_“Thanks, Jean.” Once the file clerk left, McGregor muttered under his breath, “You know, Tommy, I think you’ve been watching way too many John Wayne movies.”_

_“There’s no such thing as too much of The Duke, Pilgrim,” Tommy retorted, juggling the stack so he could put a hand to his chest in mock horror._

_McGregor harrumphed as he led the way to the small work space nearby. Sitting at the desk, he waited as Tommy placed the unstable pile in front of him, watching in dismay as the pile tilted and began sliding to the floor._

_“Sorry, McGregor!” Tommy exclaimed apologetically. He got down on his hands and knees, scrambling around to keep the files from falling apart as he gathered each one up and backhanded it to McGregor._

_As the files continued to slide to the floor, McGregor placed his phone on the table, kicked his chair back and climbed down to help out. Between the two of them, the files were soon sorted and organized then carefully placed on the table. Stepping back out of the way, Tommy courteously slid McGregor’s seat underneath him, then grabbed a chair for himself._

_“What’s the case number for my case?” Tommy asked curiously as he fiddled with McGregor’s phone._

_As McGregor reorganized the records to his satisfaction, he absently answered, “I’m not sure what the alphanumeric is but I think Jean has the entire case filed under ‘Saccharia’ for the time being since it’s still open.”_

_“Is my case separate or in the same file?” Tommy wondered out loud._

_“I think it’s separate but joined – they’re probably filed together.”_

_Slapping McGregor’s phone down on the table, Tommy enthused, “Thanks, McGregor!”_

_Jumping up from the table, Tommy dashed into the stacks of files and proceeded to rummage through the filing system where he had watched Jean retrieve McGregor’s files earlier until he found what he was looking for while McGregor’s mouth fell open in shock._

_“Uh… Tommy!” McGregor went to rise only to find he couldn’t. His feet and the seat of his pants were caught fast in place with Superglue. Reaching for his phone to call Tibbs, he realized it was Superglued to the desk, just out of reach, as well. Frantically pulling at his belt, McGregor looked up in time to see Tommy’s back disappearing out of Records and headed for the elevator._

With a nod of thanks to George, Gibbs paced into the Evidence Lockup and towards the dark form hunched in the far corner. Tony sat with his back to the chain link, the evidence boxes and files spread in front of his outstretched legs, mutely staring at something unseen.

Tipping at the waist to consider Tony for a moment, Gibbs asked gently, “Find what you’re looking for, DiNozzo?”

Not meeting Gibbs’ scrutiny, Tony shook his head disconsolately.

“Caused a bit of an uproar today – disappearing like that. You owe McGee a new pair of pants…”

“I’ll get him a gift card to Sears.”

“Disobeyed the doc. Gave Gerald a hard time. Lied to me…”

“So, punish me; what’s one more beating?” He met Gibbs’ gaze then, challenging him defiantly.

Gibbs didn’t blink but did change tack. “How did you get in here?”

“Like Ducky showed me – don’t think, just do. I guess my fingers remembered the access code.”

“You coulda messed up the chain of evidence for other cases.”

“I was careful.”

“What do you call this?”

“What do I call this?” Tony’s voice held just a touch of hysteria. “WHAT do I call _THIS?!_ Do you know what this stuff _is_ , Boss?” Tony’s voice cracked with the strain as his eyes bored into Gibbs.

“I’m the one who sealed it, DiNozzo – I know what’s in there.”

“Do you know what it’s used for?” He held up a baggie with a gold chain inside it. “This is the chain that I wore across my chest, so Master could drag me around by my nipple rings. This is the chain that I wore around my waist, so Master could secure my wrists to do lots of other things you probably don’t even want to know about and this,” he held up a much shorter chain, “is—“

“Tony, enough.”

“There’s a driver’s license with the wrong name on it in here, Boss. Right next to the rape kit – is that what you call it, Boss? _Rape?!_ I don’t know if that _fucking_ covers it, Boss!” Tony kicked out at the box, scattering plastic bags across the floor.

“DiNozzo! Enough! Catch your breath before you pass out.” Crouching down next to Tony, Gibbs softly murmured, “What were you looking for in here, Tony?”

Looking down at the BOLOs clenched in his hands, Tony fell silent save the soft susurrations as he calmed his breathing and tried to focus. Under Gibbs’ unrelenting glare, he shrugged then looked up vulnerably. “I guess… myself, Boss.”

“You didn’t find it.”

“No…”

“Ya know why?” Gibbs raised his eyebrows encouragingly.

Tony shook his head as he returned the gaze. He didn’t duck when Gibbs reached as if to swat him.

Patting the top of Tony’s head, Gibbs granted a slight grin. “Because you’re in here.”

“I thought you said there was nothing in there, Boss.”

“Plenty of room for you to hide yourself in there, Tony. When you’re ready, you’ll come out.”

000

Gibbs hit the alarm clock before it went off then drew a hand slowly across his face. Since Amanda had rejected Tony’s request to see his case file the morning before, Tony had been on the former Marines’ mind non-stop. He had hoped the blow up in the Evidence Lockup would have relieved the stress Tony was under a little, but he had remained depressed and reflective the rest of the day. Glancing at the man sleeping next to him, Gibbs could see his back slowly rise and fall, obviously deeply asleep. With a glance to confirm he had about a half hour before Ducky was expected to arrive, Gibbs rolled out of bed and trotted downstairs to start his day.

Gibbs found Tobias sitting in the den, reading his newspaper. “You couldn’t have started the coffee?” he asked grumpily as he headed for the pantry.

“It’s almost the end of my shift, Jethro, why would I want coffee?” He nodded towards the stairs. “How’s your boy doing? Sacks said something was up last night.”

Gibbs grimaced uncertainly. “I don’t know – he’s still asleep. Had a rough day yesterday.”

“What happened?”

Gibbs measured the grounds into the machine and added the water as he mulled the question; he had turned that question over and examined it from every angle all night. “I think he’s starting to comprehend what happened to him.”

“But, he always knew about his captivity, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he seemed to see his life here as an improvement on something he couldn’t complain about. Now he seems to see how wrong it was and that he has every right to feel violated. Doctor Curtis said he needs to go through the stages of grief – she thinks it might help resolve the amnesia.”

With a light rap at the front door, Fornell rushed over to allow Ducky into the house, jiggling the door to ensure the mechanism caught as he locked the door behind him.

“Good morning, gentlemen!” Ducky sniffed the air. “Ah, the first roast of the morning – also, the most deadly. How’s dear Anthony this morning?”

“Still asleep.”

“Saving the bear for me, Jethro? How was he last night?”

“Too quiet,” Gibbs admitted with a frown.

“Well, let’s get on with it, shall we?” Ducky headed for the stairs with Gibbs directly behind.

When they reached the top of the stairs, Gibbs took a quick detour into the bathroom while Ducky continued on into the bedroom. Tony slept soundly as the elderly doctor set his bag down and turned to his patient.

“All right now, Anthony, it’s time to get up,” Ducky said as he gently shook Tony’s shoulder. He frowned when Tony’s arm slid limply from under the covers. Apprehensively pulling the comforter out of the way, without the support of the thick fabric, Tony’s body sprawled lifelessly onto his stomach.

“DUCK!” Gibbs ran into the bedroom with a handful of empty medicine bottles. “Didn’t we just refill some of these?”

His eyes widening in realization, Ducky dove into his bag, fumbling for medication and a syringe. “Call an ambulance immediately!”

While Gibbs yelled down to Fornell, Ducky urgently flipped Tony over, ensuring his airway was clear, checking his shallow breathing and evaluating his sluggish yet steady heartbeat. Drawing up a measure of medication, Ducky searched unsuccessfully for a vein as he berated the fact they had recently pulled Tony’s Hickman catheter. 

Showing some signs of life, Tony’s hand fluttered in Ducky’s grip. “Noooo…” he moaned under his breath. Tony’s eyes opened to mere slits as he weakly struggled in the coroner’s grip.

“Anthony, we need to know which pills you took,” Ducky begged.

Tony’s head rolled back and forth on the pillow. “No drugs… make me sleepy…” Wrenching his wrist sideways, he impulsively jerked his arm away from Ducky only to have it recaptured by Gibbs, who held it firm while Ducky wrapped a tourniquet around it.

“DiNozzo, we need you to wake up and answer us! What did you take? How many, damn it?!”

“No, Ducky… No more… Boss, lemme go.”

“I’m not letting you go! How Many Pills, Tony?!”

“I flsssshed ‘em.”

Finally hitting a vein, Ducky backed off the syringe to check for a flash before injecting the medication. When Tony’s slurred comment sank in, he paused to ask. “You did what, Anthony?”

“Flsssshed ‘em.”

With a blue glare of shock and frustration at Gibbs and Fornell, Ducky asked his patient, “You flushed them?! When? This is very important, Anthony. Did you have your pills last night?”

A soft moan turned into an, “Un-unh.”

“How about at lunch yesterday?”

Gibbs found his voice. “He left his backpack behind when we went out to eat, Duck – told me he’d take them as soon as we got back.”

A siren could be heard on the street below as the ambulance pulled up to the house. Fornell rushed down the stairs to guide the EMTs in while Sacks guarded the door.

Mindfully injecting a third of the syringe, Ducky informed Gibbs, “He’s going into shock from withdrawal, Jethro. At least three of his medications are extremely likely to cause rebound symptoms if stopped suddenly. Another, without question, must be weaned from his system and the medications his nephrologist prescribed are absolutely essential until his kidneys recover better function!”

“Thin’ I scrwwwwwwd up, Bossss.” Tony slurred as he tried to roll off his back, “Duck, idonfeelsogoo…”

With both men’s help, Tony was able to turn towards the offered basin before the nausea took control. With so little in his system, he was dry heaving by the time the paramedics rattled into the room with the gurney. They quickly had him strapped in and him and Ducky on their way to Bethesda with half the protection detail and Gibbs in hot pursuit.

000

Kneading the bridge of his nose, Brad Pitt slowly approached Gibbs where he sat with Abby and Amanda Curtis.

Gibbs rose to his toes and demanded immediately. “How is he? Where’s Ducky?”

“He’s staying with Tony while we admit him.” Brad held up his hands in a staying gesture. “He’s going to be all right, but he’ll be keeping us company at least for the day until he’s stabilized and we need to flush and evaluate his kidneys.”

“Is he conscious?”

“Not anymore,” Brad supplied. “He was lucid for a little while, but he’s totally gorked out now.” He turned to the psychiatrist, “It definitely wasn’t a suicide attempt, Amanda. There were no drugs in his system, which is what the problem was. Apparently, he wanted to stay sharp in case Zaccharia showed up, so he stopped everything cold turkey and then his system started to crash with the sudden change in chemistry.”

“Can we see him?” Abby sniffled.

“Yes, once we get him into a room. Just,” Brad’s eyes searched all their faces to rest on Gibbs, “go easy on him.”

000

When Tony awoke, he wished he hadn’t. The bass line playing unrelentingly in the back of his skull was only a precursor of things to come. The warm body pressed against his had to be Abby; he had spent enough lazy evenings snuggled under the blanket on the couch with her, watching movies to know every curve of her slender body and the hint of orchids in her gunpowder perfume, to know she was the person holding him together. He should have known to not alert her that he was waking, but his body wasn’t listening to what his brain was shouting at it and his hand reflexively tightened on her, eliciting a happy shriek which only served to encourage the bass line to play harder as it shredded the fog in his brain.

Recoiling in pain, Tony could hear familiar voices also seeking attention from him. He tried to pull away but found he had been restrained at the wrists. Yielding to the restraints, Tony ignored everything else as he allowed his head to flop back onto Abby’s warm shoulder, taking comfort in her proximity. Seeming to sense what he needed, Abby curled more against him, giving him contact points to anchor him in the present. Another blanket was added to the pile on top of them and tucked under Tony’s chin as a mellow warmth flowed up his arm, into his head, then throughout his body.

A short while later, Tony tried to open his eyes to assess the situation he found himself in. The bright light sent his retinas screaming for cover, only peeking out again when the light thankfully dimmed. Tony opened his eyes again to find Gibbs’ head blocking the light where he hovered directly over Tony’s face with an inscrutable expression in his ice blue eyes.

“Ya look like crap, DiNozzo.”

Unable to dredge up a coherent thought, Tony just carefully nodded.

The concern bled through. “How’re ya feelin’?”

Tony weakly bobbed his head from side to side then stopped as the nausea threatened, earning a grunt of understanding from his mentor. He gave his restraints a meaningful tug as he watched his Boss through hooded eyes.

“You pulled out your IV lines a coupla times while you were out, so they had to strap your hands down. Think you can be good?” Gibbs smiled at the meek nod. “Lemme see.” Nudging Abby out of the way, he bent to unfasten the buckles.

“Here, Anthony, I’m sure your throat is quite sore by now. Slowly…” Ducky offered the straw and supervised Tony’s shaky sips. “You should feel better quite soon, once you’re hydrated and the medication has had a chance to work. You gave us quite a scare, Anthony,” he pointed out sternly. “Do not do that again!” 

“Ducky, it isn’t like he did it on purpose!” Abby protested on Tony’s behalf. She snuggled back against Tony when Gibbs finished with the cuff on her side and smiled when Tony instinctively burrowed against her.

Seeing the apology shining in Tony’s eyes, Ducky relented, “We do not wish to lose you, young man. Have you had enough water for now?”

“Thnks, Dk,” Tony tried thickly. “Sssssry, Bss.”

“Don’t apologize,” Gibbs asserted. “Try to get some sleep. As soon as your kidneys look good and they pull the IVs and catheter, we can take you home.”

“On’t, Bss…” Tony breathed as he drifted into drugged oblivion.

000

  



	27. Chapter 27

  


Tony padded barefoot down the wooden stairs. His throat had been flaring up the past few days since his withdrawal scare. Ducky had suggested some sort of pollen might be partially to blame for the irritation, and, since he was hesitant to use his throat medication any more than was absolutely necessary when he needed his mind clear, Tony hoped some juice would help coat it. Rummaging through the refrigerator, he poured a glass and turned only to find Agent Sacks watching him in the light of the open refrigerator door. Tony shyly glanced down as he realized he hadn’t pulled on a t-shirt. His lounge pants hung low over his hips, showcasing the rings and gem decorating his torso. Tony saw Sacks’ jaw tense as his eyes hungrily wandered Tony’s body.

“Can I help you?” Tony defiantly rasped.

“I was just checking what the noise was,” Sacks defended.

Tony raised his glass. “Needed a drink. I’m headed back to bed now, if you want to put that in your report.” He chugged the rest of the juice down, hoping the sudden rush of liquid would calm the aggravating itch. Setting the glass into the sink and filling it with water, Tony noticed the other irritant was still watching him. “Can I do something for you, Agent Slacks?”

The agent frowned at him. “It’s _Sacks_ ,” he corrected for the hundredth time.

“Yeah, well, whatever. What do you want from me?”

“I just can never figure you out…”

“I’m afraid you’ve got me at a disadvantage here,” Tony admitted. “Aside from you locking me up for a murder I didn’t commit, I have no memory of you—“

Gibbs’ voice, far too alert for the hour, interrupted their discussion, “Tony? You okay?”

“Yeah, Boss. I just needed some juice. I’ll be back upstairs in a minute.”

A grunt emanated from the shadow tumbling down the stairs, making Tony grin in amusement as he turned to brush past Sacks.

And that’s when he saw it – the jealousy. Tony had seen the interaction between the two FBI agents. He’d noticed the arm’s length Fornell kept his man and the way Sacks avidly watched Tony’s and his Boss’ every move when they were together. It hadn’t escaped Tony’s notice to what incredible lengths Gibbs had gone for him. It was also obvious, while Fornell would ensure his man was cared for, he would never do for Sacks what Gibbs had done for his second. At times it seemed to Tony that Fornell held him in higher regard than his own man, whether that was because of Gibbs or Tony himself, Tony wasn’t sure – he had no frame of reference. What he was confident about was that Sacks was jealous of his relationship with his Boss.

With that to mull over, Tony slowly climbed the stairs and headed for bed.

“Everything okay?” Lounging against the headboard, Gibbs looked relaxed until Tony noticed how closely those familiar blue eyes protectively examined him. While Gibbs seemed to detect Tony’s preoccupation, he chose to ignore it. “How’s the throat?”

“Juice helped a little.” Plopping on his side of the bed, Tony asked, “Boss, did I ever tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve done for me?”

“Tell me every day, DiNozzo.”

Tony frowned. “How’s that?”

“Actions speak louder than words, DiNozzo. What brought this on?”

Tony lay down and pulled the covers over himself. “Nothing in particular,” he hedged as he rolled onto his side so his back was to his Boss.

“You okay?”

“’m fine,” he replied sleepily into the pillow around a stifled cough.

Gibbs studied Tony’s back for several long minutes, watching him settle into sleep before climbing under the covers himself. He made note to speak with Fornell in the morning to see if he could shed any light on Tony’s preoccupation. Rolling so he could easily reach the nightstand, Gibbs slid the drawer open to make sure his Sig was positioned so he could easily snatch it up should the need arise. Behind him, Tony mumbled inarticulately in his sleep as he snuggled deeper under the covers. Silently sliding the drawer most of the way closed, Gibbs turned off the light to lay sentinel until sleep finally claimed him as well.

000

_McGregor glared at his laptop as the internet connection dissolved yet again. He hated working remotely from Tibbs’ house; the simple connection the Agency had installed years ago was notorious for its instability. Resolving to himself he would remedy that situation the coming weekend whether Tibbs agreed or not, he rummaged in his pack for his cord to connect to dial-up, knowing even as he did it that he was headed for a frustrating day. Tommy placidly lounged nearby, playing a game on his phone while Jackson puttered in the kitchen, preparing lunch. It was McGregor’s turn to guard Tommy. From the onset of the protection detail, Tibbs had been explicit in his instructions that the FBI could watch the outside, but his own agents would be the only ones to deal with Tommy directly unless he was home. While Tommy had come a long way in the two months since his escape and rescue, he was still contending with his memory loss and emotional fragility._

_While McGregor crawled under an end table to plug his computer in, Tommy suddenly surged to his feet beside him. “Did you hear that?”_

_McGregor jumped in surprise, cracking his head on the underside of the heavy wooden table. “Ow! Hear what?” McGregor asked as he rubbed his sore head. He watched warily as Tommy’s eyes darted around while he cocked his head first one way then the other._

_“Shhh…”_

_Tommy paced around as Jackson came into the room. “What’s up?”_

_“I dunno,” McGregor admitted, quieting again at Tommy’s signal. The younger agent had experienced enough situations where Tommy’s heightened senses saved the day to know better than to discount them even now. He drew his Sig when he heard the barely audible sound of something falling against the house. “Tommy, you and Jackson stay here and call Tibbs. I’ll go check it out.”_

_Against Tommy’s protests, Jackson grabbed his arm and drew him away from the windows as McGregor carefully crept out the back door. McGregor stealthily worked his way along the back of the house, his back pressed firmly to the shingles. Reaching the corner, he surveyed the yard only to spy two feet sticking out from under the hedge. After a quick glance to ensure the coast was clear, he scrambled to the hedge only to find the body of one of the FBI agents sprawled in the mud. Checking first a wrist and then the carotid artery confirmed his suspicions and worst case scenario – no pulse. He looked around warily._

_The snap of a twig turned McGregor a millisecond before a muffled shot rang out followed by the unmistakable sensation of metal boring through flesh, tearing through his left shoulder. He tried to fire his Sig towards the man confidently striding towards him from the other side of the yard but his hand wouldn’t respond. Switching hands, his calf exploded in pain as another bullet drilled through it while he writhed on the ground, trying to get to cover. Knowing Tibbs would be drilling him on the range for weeks for it, he managed to squeeze off a few wild shots from his gun, which sent the man diving for cover towards the front of the house, sparing McGregor the kill shot._

_McGregor breathed through his nose as he fought the rising pain-induced nausea as he frantically reviewed his options even as his vision narrowed alarmingly. Strong hands suddenly grabbed him from behind, one clapped over his mouth to silence him as he nearly shouted out in surprise and pain while the other tightened until his back was pinned to the other’s chest to contain his struggles._

_“McGregor, quiet! It’s me,” Tommy hissed. Ignoring the gasps of pain, he hefted the injured agent and half-carried him into the house. “Jackson, grab some towels. We need to stop this bleeding.”_

_Jackson rushed to McGregor’s side, an armload of clean towels in his hands. Tommy guided him to the pantry, throwing the doors open and setting McGregor down inside it. Pulling a knife from his pocket, Tommy made short work of McGregor’s shirt and pants leg, ripping them both open for easy access to the wounds._

_“Good, they’re both through and throughs. Jackson, take care of him and both of you stay here, no matter what happens. Don’t make a sound. I’ll try to distract him. Tibbs should be here soon,” Tommy firmly instructed as he turned to leave._

_McGregor grabbed Tommy’s shirt. “Tommy, what are you doing? You can’t go out there!”_

_Tommy unclenched McGregor’s hand from his shirt and gave it a quick pat. “I can’t let anyone else get hurt because of me, Timmy. You’re a good agent, McGregor, I can see why Tommy wanted you as his partner. Thanks for everything, Jackson. Take care of him.” With a stern glare to quell their protests and a quick clap on the health aide’s shoulder, Tommy crept out of the pantry, silently shutting the door behind him then quickly mopping up the trail of blood through the kitchen and tossing the blood-soaked towel under the sink. He pulled his shirt away from his skin where the blood had stuck it to him to survey his ruined clothing in dismay as he disappeared from view._

_With Jackson maintaining pressure on both his shoulder and leg, McGregor and he both peered out the slats on the door when the front door suddenly slammed open. A man loomed in the doorway, his dark eyes darting in every direction. When he strode into their limited view over the countertop, McGregor’s eyes widened in alarm as recognition dawned. There was no mistaking the identity of the man who had monopolized Tibbs’ attention the past ten months. Salvatore Saccharia._

_“Tomas!” the criminal mastermind bellowed as he followed his gun into Tibbs’ house and ferally scanned the room._

_He stalked around the room, pausing to examine a droplet of blood on the living room rug. McGregor fought to calm his breathing. It was becoming hard to stay quiet as the pain intensified while the endorphins subsided. Jackson nervously shifted his weight, eliciting a smothered whimper from the injured agent as the pain blossomed anew. Saccharia froze in place, his gun twitching ever so slightly. As he turned towards the kitchen, a noise spun him away from the pantry._

_Suddenly appearing from an alcove on the far side of the living room, Tommy stepped into the man’s sight, naked except for his gold adornments. “Master, you found me!” Tommy exclaimed as he dutifully strode directly towards the barrel of Saccharia’s gun. Shortly before reaching the shocked gangster, he gracefully fell to his knees, grasped his wrist behind his back with his opposite hand and bowed low until his forehead touched the man’s feet._

_“What the hell?” Too shocked to react, Saccharia watched the display in fascination, his mind turning over the possibilities. He had thought his original retribution was a final solution, never thinking the federal agent could ever return from his associate’s estate. Initially, once he heard Agent Tommy had somehow escaped, all he wanted was to eliminate him but now that the agent had walked in and offered himself, body and soul, to the gunrunner, Saccharia wanted answers and, knowing Bouvier’s propensities, saw the possibilities for true, ongoing revenge on the federal agent who had betrayed him. “What are you talking about?” he asked craftily while he appreciatively eyed Bouvier’s brutal handiwork, which was indelibly etched into Tommy’s back._

_“Master told me, if anything ever happened to him, I was to go to you, Master,” Tommy explained simply._

_“Yet, you didn’t find me.”_

_Sitting back onto his heels with his eyes firmly fixed on Saccharia’s knees, Tommy sheepishly replied, “I’m sorry, Master. I didn’t know where to look and they’ve kept me under guard.”_

_Saccharia’s eyes narrowed. “You will be punished for that.”_

_Tommy spared a deliberate glance through lowered eyelashes at the gunrunner, his tongue languidly stroking across his lips as his gaze obediently drifted down, following the man’s body suggestively. “Yes, Master,” Tommy conceded in a lower tone before subserviently advising, “If it pleases my Master, the FBI agents are overdue for a shift change. There should be more agents arriving soon.”_

_Meeting Jackson’s stunned eyes in the half light of their hiding place, McGregor couldn’t believe what he was hearing._

_Saccharia reached out to finger the small tag at Tommy’s throat. “What is this? You wear another man’s name on you?” His fist closed around the gold medallion when Tommy submissively dropped his eyes without another word. Violently yanking the tag off the gold collar, Saccharia flung it to the floor as he surveyed his surroundings. “Is there anyone else in the house with you?” the criminal demanded._

_“No, Master. The guards are supposed to stay outside. Tibbs doesn’t like them near me.”_

_“I can imagine why… How many men are here guarding you?”_

_“I believe three, but they don’t speak to me.”_

_“Stand, Tomas. Come with me.”_

_McGregor could see Tommy subserviently rise to tower over the shorter man, his eyes lowered and his hands clasped behind his back. He submissively followed the man outside. Mere seconds later, a car could be heard roaring to life and speeding away from the house._

_Looking nervously into Jackson’s eyes, McGregor finally asked, “He’s gone. How bad does it look?”_

_Jackson curled the edge of a towel to peer at his shoulder before replying, “It’s messy, but I’ve seen worse.” He nodded towards his own ruined shoulder. “Your leg has already stopped bleeding. You’ll live.”_

_“Good,” McGregor moaned. “Because Tibbs is gonna kill me…”_

A few minutes later, Gibbs and Ziva came to a screeching halt in front of the house with an ambulance in hot pursuit. Within ten minutes, an army of agents was crawling over the property while Gibbs debriefed his two men.

“I’m sorry, Boss! I’m not quite sure what happened. Tony helped me into the house and hid us, then he just took all his clothes off and went right to him – I wasn’t able to stop him.” McGee finally yielded to the two paramedics impatiently standing at his side, allowing them to slip the oxygen mask back on.

“Did he have his collar on?”

McGee nodded before answering with a muffled, “Yeah. Why?”

Absently rolling the gold tag he had plucked from the carpet in his fingertips, the lead agent pocketed it as he addressed his remaining agent. “Ziva, get Abby to locate the GPS thing and track him down.”

“Yes, Gibbs.”

“But, Boss, he doesn’t have his phone with him.”

“Not in his phone, Tim, in his collar… ‘s how Abby made it mine.”

McGee nearly rose off the gurney, only stopping when he painfully strained his shoulder on the straps at the twin shouts of the two medics. “Wha—There’s a _GPS_ in it? Did Tony know there was a GPS in his collar?”

Gibbs rested a hand on his youngest agent’s shoulder, reinforcing the paramedics’ order with a firm glare. “Yeah. Abby wanted to put it someplace else, but we wouldn’t let her.”

McGee frowned as he relaxed into the cushion, wondering if he really wanted to know what Abby’s original idea was, rapidly discarding the urge to ask. With a nod from the senior agent, he was swiftly loaded into the waiting ambulance and rushed off to Bethesda.

000

  



	28. Chapter 28

 

 

“Abs, I need it now!”  
  
Abby’s face loomed in the small viewscreen in the front seat of Gibbs’ Charger as her hands continued to type frantically on her keyboard in a tiny corner of the screen. “I know, Gibbs! Gimme a few minutes, I’m working on it! There’s some kind of interference; I’m trying to clean up the signal now. Have you reached the target area yet?”  
  
“Almost there now, Abs. I don’t have a few minutes,” Gibbs gritted, gunning the accelerator even more as he and Ziva flew down the highway. “Any word on McGee?”  
  
“Ducky should be at Bethesda any time now. Timmy’s stable and they’ve taken him up to surgery. They were clean shots, so the doctor said he should be fine; they have to clean them out and repair some tendon damage. Okay, I’ve got you getting close to the exit. When you hit Dumfries, you want 234 towards Independence Hill or Brentsville. You’ll see a sign for Prince William Forest Park.”  
  
Gibbs’ foot flattened to the floor as he hit the offramp, nearly throwing Ziva into his lap. “The damn bone yard!”  
  
Ziva didn’t flinch as the Charger roared onto the smaller highway, swerving around vehicles and rattling up the breakdown lane. Skidding off onto an access road towards the park, Gibbs barely controlled the powerful car as its right two wheels briefly left the asphalt.   
  
“Call Fornell, see if he has his men in the area yet.”  
  
After briefly speaking on the phone, Ziva reported, “He has five units from Quantico waiting for the coordinates; they’re at the south entrance to the park. Another unit has the bone yard under surveillance.”  
  
“Gibbs! Gibbs! Gibbs! I’ve got him!”  
  
“Coordinates, Abby!”  
  
“Okay. There’s a house with property abutting the park – he’s in a room on the north side of the house. I have Ashton trying to get a satellite feed. The coordinates are on your screen and I sent them to Ziva and Fornell’s PDAs, since you are so totally clueless with yours…”  
  
“Thanks, Abs.”  
  
“Just get him home safe, Bossman.”  
  
“I will, Abs.”  
  
Following Ziva’s directions, Gibbs quickly reached the property to find over a dozen FBI agents already stealthily converging on the house. He and Ziva jumped out to join them, carefully edging along the driveway towards the cover of the garage. A shot rang out inside the house and then another followed a short while later by a third. With one team at the front and another at the side door, the agents surged into the house with guns drawn, efficiently clearing each room as they ran onto the next.  
  
Gibbs listened intently for any signs of life between the repeated shouts of “Clear!” The house appeared lived in but deserted.   
  
Abandoned.   
  
 _Dead._    
  
Until, “In here!”   
  
His heart pounding in his chest, Gibbs raced into the room, quickly shadowing the FBI agents in pivoting his gun towards a wide-eyed, blood-spattered figure crouched in a corner with his gun pointed at them. Realizing who it was, he immediately reholstered his Sig as he allowed his eyes to quickly scan the rest of the gory scene.   
  
Salvatore Zaccharia lay dead against the wall, his face frozen in shocked betrayal. An accomplice sprawled nearby, his body tumbled half on the couch, obviously dead as well. Naked except for his collar with a length of thick chain padlocked to it and covered by a kaleidoscope of bruises and welts, Tony sat unblinkingly on the floor, his back against the wall, his knees drawn halfway up, his gun snapping in the direction of any movement.  
  
“Put your guns away and get the hell out of here,” Gibbs ordered the FBI agents.  
  
“Can’t do that,” one of the men tersely replied.  
  
“Yes, you can,” Fornell casually appeared to lean on the door frame, out of sight of Tony. “Process the rest of the house; I’ll let you know when this room is clear.” He jerked his head towards the next room to encourage the agents to leave. Tobias then measured Gibbs thoughtfully. “Jethro, you all set?”  
  
Not taking his eyes from Tony, Gibbs nodded. “Yeah. Thanks, Tobias.”  
  
“I’ll be right next door if anything comes up.”  
  
The lead agent nodded absently as he slowly approached his agent. “Tony? You with me, DiNozzo?”  
  
The gun swung from the door to him again as Tony’s unblinking eyes stared uncomprehendingly in his Boss’ direction. Gibbs eased closer, trying to exude reassurance and authority. He watched Tony’s nostrils flare, his chest heave, as he took one choppy breath after another.  
  
“Tony, it’s Gibbs. Your boss.”  
  
The panicked gaze wavered. He blinked once.  
  
“Tony… Come on, Honeybuns.”  
  
The odd nickname tugged at a memory.  
  
Tony sniffed the faint scent of coffee and sawdust. His unfocused eyes widened imperceptibly in recognition. “Boss?” The raspy voice was small. Lost.  
  
“I’m right here, Tony. I’ve got your six.”  
  
The gauzy tunnel of his vision widened – cleared, until Gibbs’ face came into focus. Green eyes locked with blue. Devastation sought sanctuary. The gun shook, then fell from suddenly nerveless hands. The scents of sawdust, coffee, blood, sweat, smoke and gunpowder all comingled to hang in the air around the two men, causing images to flash in a kaleidoscope of memories. Gibbs saw Tony’s eyes abruptly flash wide with recollection before his lids suddenly grew heavy as his adrenaline surge rapidly plummeted. Protectively drawing his knees up and feebly hugging them to his chest, Tony listed to one side but his boss was there to catch him, kneeling next to him to take his weight and hold him close.  
  
“He’s dead?” was muffled into his shirt.  
  
Gibbs snorted, pausing a beat to smooth Tony’s shoulder when he suddenly tensed. “Yeah, he’s dead.”  
  
Leaning further against him, Tony nodded against his chest. “McGee and Gerald?”  
  
“They’re both safe. Tim’s at Bethesda but they said he’ll be fine. No major damage. You did good, Tony.” He felt the strained smile as he gently ruffled the soft, golden brown hair. “Here, lemme see you.” Fumbling for a handkerchief, Gibbs daubed it on his tongue to wet it before gently wiping away the blood from Tony’s face.  
  
Tony looked from the hanky to his Boss as reminiscences stirred – another familiar action which tugged at him.   
  
A rooftop.   
  
A gunshot.   
  
A sudden loss.   
  
He sagged, boneless, in Gibbs’ arms. “’m tired, Boss.”  
  
Gibbs looked over his agent’s bowed head to nod to Fornell. He had heard the paramedics rattle into the next room a short time ago. “Rest. We’re gonna get you to Bethesda to get checked out and see Tim. You ready?”  
  
“M-hunh. Stay with me?”  
  
“Where do ya think I’m gonna go?” Gibbs asked brusquely, earning an unsteady look.  
  
“Always on my six…” His fragile hold on consciousness slipping, Tony slumped lifelessly into Gibbs’ arms.  
  
Noticing Tony’s joined wrists, Gibbs cut the zip tie between the two cuffs with his knife before reluctantly slipping out of the way to stand next to Fornell as the paramedics swooped in. They gingerly slid Tony the rest of the way to the floor and rolled him over to examine his back. Gibbs’ heart fell when he saw the fresh welts covering Tony’s still recovering back. He looked down to his own hands, finding far too much blood there. With Tobias standing at his side, Gibbs watched with hands tightly clenched as the paramedics stabilized Tony for transport.   
  
As they raised the gurney to wheel it outside, Gibbs stepped to Tony’s side. “He needs to go to Bethesda,” he informed them tersely.  
  
“There are several closer, Agent,” the paramedic cautioned.  
  
“He’s a damn Plague survivor – he needs specialized care. He’s going to Bethesda!”  
  
The paramedic’s eyes widened as he nervously glanced at his patient. Blood was slowly seeping through the packing they had applied to Tony’s back, staining the blanket a darker shade of red.  
  
“Okay, Bethesda it is. Who’s his specialist there, so we can conference him in on the bus?”  
  
“Ask for Brad Pitt.” Gibbs’ eyes narrowed at the sign of hesitation. “Don’t argue with me… Just ask for Brad!”  
  
The paramedic exchanged a look of disbelief with his partner before pushing the gurney towards the door.  
  
“Get going, Jethro,” Fornell urged Gibbs. “I’ll wrap everything up here.”  
  
Gibbs sympathetically clapped Fornell on the shoulder. “I’m sorry about your men, Tobias.”  
  
“Yeah. Me, too. They were good men.” He bowed his head with a sigh. “You’d better get going. I’ll clean things up here.”  
  
“Thanks. I’ll check in with you later.”  
  
As he surveyed the grisly scene once more, Tobias added, “Let me know how your boys are doing when you get a chance.” When he turned around, Gibbs was already outside the house, climbing into the ambulance with Tony.  
  


000

  
  
Tim McGee woke to the clatter of a bed being pushed into his room, opening his eyes just in time to see a large number of scrub clad people scurrying alongside the bed in a sea of pastels to partially disappear behind the adjoining curtain. He had awoken from surgery a few hours earlier to find his sister, Sarah, nervously holding his hand with Ducky placidly watching over him. Tim had managed to stay awake only as long as it took him to reassure his sister he was fine and he wished for her to be sure to get to her late afternoon classes and then pry the news from Ducky that Tony was on his way to Bethesda alive but injured before allowing himself to once again drift off into drugged oblivion.  
  
With the hushed hubbub behind the curtain in the background, Tim glanced around, disappointed to find Ducky wasn’t there anymore. The shadows in the room suggested Sarah’s absence might be due to her taking his advice and going to her classes after all. Tim lay quietly. The pain medications were doing a good job keeping him mellow and relatively comfortable so long as he didn’t move too much. He tried to stay awake, hoping Ducky or someone would return soon to give him an update on Tony.   
  
After the patient had been efficiently transferred to the bed, the large mob of medical personnel flitted around the bed, initializing monitors, taking vitals and giving rounds to the unit’s team.  
  
While he wrote on the chart, one of the doctors stepped away from the small crowd to check on the room’s other occupant. “How’re ya feeling, Tim?” Brad Pitt asked with a grin. “I thought you might like some company.”  
  
Tim tried to peek into the next bed without straining any stitches, but the patient was still surrounded by nurses and technicians, their silhouettes drifting back and forth behind the thin fabric. “That’s Tony? Is he okay?”  
  
Brad shrugged. “He will be. In some ways, we’re back to square one with his back. His skin was so friable the beating tore pretty deep into the muscles. He may be looking at some skin grafts depending on how it heals. We sutured it all up and now all we can do is wait and encourage the best atmosphere for healing. He should probably be in ICU for a couple days, but I figured I could commit Emma and myself to a few shifts with him here instead of there as long as he needs more personalized care since our schedules are pretty clear, so he can benefit from you guys being around as much as possible.”  
  
“Where’s Gibbs?”  
  
“Where do ya think?” the agent asked as he strolled in with a cardboard carrier filled with cups of his favorite brew, obviously prepared for a long visit.  
  
McGee’s eyes brightened until he realized he’d be living non-stop with Gibbs and Tony for the next few days. Paling even further, he sank back into the bedding, suddenly feeling a little nauseous.  
  
“Timmy!!!” Abby squealed as she dashed into the room dragging Ducky along by the elbow. Her boots made a loud clunk-clunk-clunk on the hard linoleum. Abby latched onto McGee’s good arm in an awkward imitation of her usual crushing squeeze.  
  
McGee flinched before allowing the Goth to carefully hug him.  
  
“I got out of work as soon as I could but Major Mass Spec was having FITS and Balboa needed results ASAP and I was, like, going NUTS staying there and Balboa’s probie forgot to bring me my Caf-Pow! Gibbs promised and--”  
  
“Abigail, my dear, settle down,” Ducky chuckled. “Your timing worked out well. Timothy has been asleep all afternoon and Anthony just arrived from surgery.”  
  
Abby flashed huge puppy dog eyes at the men around her. She looked over at Tim. “You sure?”  
  
“Just woke up when Brad’s herd of elephants arrived,” McGee admitted sleepily. His eyes were already beginning to droop again.  
  
Grinning, Brad shrugged unapologetically as he wandered over to draw the curtain open the rest of the way, allowing more light into McGee’s side of the room and providing everyone an unobstructed view of Tony. Tony was draped over a long cushion, lying more on his stomach than his left side. A cannula was firmly fitted to his nose and numerous tubes and wires crawled out from under the sheet to wend their way to various machines. A small frame surrounded Tony’s torso and it was this the sheet was pulled over and then laid to rest on his bare shoulders.  
  
Gibbs drifted to the other bed, pulled the bed tray over and put his coffees on it. He tipped to look at Tony’s grey face for a long moment then received an optimistic word from Brad before turning back to McGee. Gibbs frowned at the Goth. “Abs, if ya don’t stop jigglin’ him, he’s gonna curdle.”  
  
With a pout, Abby slipped one arm behind Tim’s neck and snuggled close while McGee smiled in gratitude.  
  
“Thanks, Boss… and, Abs…” He eyed her cautiously but found, as usual, she hadn’t taken offense.  
  
One of Tony’s monitors began beeping insistently, sending Brad and Gibbs scurrying to his side. A nurse raced from the room as the team watched anxiously, returning just moments later with a vial and syringe. Tony’s body shook with erratic hiccupped shudders as the doctor drew up some medication and injected it into one of his IV ports. With a nod from Brad, Gibbs gripped one of Tony’s hands as the tension drained out of his body and his breathing stabilized.  
  
When both Gibbs and Brad continued to silently watch Tony without comment for several long minutes, McGee asked anxiously, “Is Tony okay?”  
  
“’m fine, ..Probie,” shakily drifted from the still form in the other bed. Tony’s eyes opened to half-mast to roll towards his and Gibbs’ joined hands then up towards his mentor in question.  
  
Gibbs tilted his head and gave Tony’s hand a squeeze in reply, smiling when Tony blinked contentedly.  
  
McGee nodded in relief then, his eyes widening, he looked to Abby and Gibbs for confirmation. “He called me Probie.”  
  
“Been calling you that….since we brought you up….from….Norfolk, McGoo,” Tony rasped unevenly. His eyes slid shut again in exhaustion as he finally succumbed to the medication coursing through his veins.  
  
The room buzzed with excitement as everyone came to the same realization even as Tony blissfully slept through it all.  
  
Abby bounced animatedly, jostling McGee to the point Ducky had to intervene. Standing up, she hugged the elderly coroner until he was breathless. “He remembers!”  
  
“Yes, Abigail,” Ducky strained to say. “Now, let an old man breathe!”  
  
“Oh, sorry, Ducky!” She squeezed him again for good measure then, her hands fluttering excitedly, latched onto Gibbs, burying her head in his shoulder. “Gibbs, did you know he was our Tony again?”  
  
“Never stopped, Abs.”  
  
“You know what I mean!”  
  
“Thought I saw a flash of something back at the scene, but couldn’t be sure until now,” Gibbs admitted.  
  
“Boss, now that he’s remembering, do you think he’ll be able to be an agent again?” McGee asked hopefully.  
  
Gibbs’ eyes flashed censure at McGee despite being confident Tony was no longer conscious. “I haven’t been keeping a seat free for nothing, Tim.”  
  
“Yeah, but…” McGee shifted uncomfortably, backpedaling as he realized just how much the medication had loosened his tongue. “After everything he’s been through…”  
  
“Timmy, how could you even suggest that?” Abby demanded as she squeezed even harder against Gibbs. “Tony’s coming back – end of discussion!”  
  
Gibbs placidly advised, “Tim, you have to stop seeing him as a victim and start seeing him as a survivor.”  
  
“Amen to that,” Ducky intoned with a pat on McGee’s uninjured leg.  
  
Shifting his weight so he could look at his partner, McGee doubtfully considered the injured man next to him. Even faced with Gibbs’ unwavering belief in Tony, he couldn’t help the niggling doubt which had taken up residence the day he first disappeared. As sleep eventually reclaimed him, Tim wondered if Gibbs’ belief was enough.  
  
  


 

000


	29. Chapter 29

 

 

As he watched his men sleep, Gibbs once again found himself wondering if having his two men share a room was a good idea. Even though he felt more in control of the situation with the both of them in his eyesight, Tony and McGee’s medical and psychological needs were so different, he could see it was going to be a daunting task juggling them all in such a confined space without running the risk of either feeling slighted while maintaining each man’s privacy. As soon as he took up residence in the room, Gibbs had ridden herd on the small army of medical personnel taking care of his two men while personally tending to their other needs.  
  
The team leader had spoken with McGee’s father while Tony was still in surgery and knew Tim’s parents were catching the first available flight to be at their son’s side. With his father now retired from his private sector job, they had all the free time they could possibly wish for to devote to their son. Bethesda’s Naval liaison was already hard at work making the arrangements for the retired officer’s stay in Maryland for the duration of McGee’s recovery. Knowing when Tony finally awoke he would be consuming a great deal of his time, Gibbs was grudgingly looking forward to yielding his junior agent’s care to his parents.  
  
Gibbs knew better than to contact Tony’s father. Despite the occasionally dropped hints of a troubled relationship, Gibbs had dutifully contacted Mr. DiNozzo’s office once, early in Tony’s career at NCIS when Tony was seriously injured in a firefight. After his father’s secretary refused to do anything but take a message then sent an impersonal note misspelling Tony’s first name, Gibbs never again tried to contact the senior DiNozzo. It was only after that time that Gibbs insisted Tony have a viable local emergency proxy and, as a result, found himself filling out more hospital paperwork than he ever imagined possible.  
  
A soft moan drew Gibbs to McGee’s side. His younger agent was still experiencing a great deal of discomfort despite the steady stream of painkillers coursing through his veins. Smoothing the creased forehead, Gibbs murmured reassurances to the sleeping man as he pressed the call button. The nurse who arrived a few minutes later frowned disapprovingly at the demanding visitor who had made the staff miserable all evening. She bustled around the bed, checking IVs and monitors before turning to McGee’s chart. McGee caught his breath as he shifted uncomfortably in the bedding, his dominant arm strapped securely to his torso and his leg cradled on a thick foam cushion.   
  
Seeing the oncoming train wreck, Emma left Tony’s side to intervene as the nurse irritably began to explain to a stonily unreceptive Gibbs what she couldn’t do for his junior agent. With the same friendly charm overlaying firm steel she used to win over recalcitrant patients, Emma politely brought the nurse up short and helpfully directed her attention to more possible proactive measures. After a brief discussion and a call to the doctor overseeing McGee’s case, the nurse left with a huff to retrieve the ordered medication while, with a pat on Gibbs’ shoulder, Emma returned to Tony’s side.  
  
Nodding his appreciation to Tony’s nurse, Gibbs pulled a chair up to McGee’s bed to wait. He watched Tony over his shoulder for a moment as he slept on his stomach, his face currently turned towards him squished slightly to one side as he drooled onto the pillow. The beating had ravaged a system not yet fully recovered from his first case of hypovolemic shock and Brad was concerned this second case so soon afterwards would be more severe as a result. He had left Emma with Tony overnight to closely monitor and respond to any changes in Tony’s condition as they tried to restore his system’s delicate balance. After a few minor scares earlier in the evening, Gibbs was both comforted and troubled that Brad chose to stay the night just a few floors lower, grabbing sleep in his cot in the biohazard isolation suite.  
  
With a slight adjustment in medication, McGee was soon sleeping soundly, his face now relaxed with a contented expression on it. Emma ducked low to whisper a suggestion Gibbs try to get some rest before bustling around Tony checking, regulating and recording as she went. With a low mutter and one more scrutinizing glance at both of his men, Gibbs eased himself into the lounge chair Brad had arranged for him and settled for a short nap.  
  
When Gibbs awoke, Brad was next to him, tending to a feverish Tony, who was thrashing and gutturally begging for help behind the mask which had replaced the cannula sometime during the night. A quick peek over his shoulder showed an apprehensive McGee watching wide-eyed as his partner tossed in delirium. Shooting McGee a reassuring look, Gibbs reached for a clammy hand, holding it tight as he stroked Tony’s sweat-soaked brow. Long after McGee had faded back into an uneasy sleep, Tony gabbled and whimpered, for the most part not making any sense, yet snippets would occasionally come together to make Gibbs’ heart clench. A cooling mat was brought in to help stem Tony’s spiraling fever and help protect his vulnerable organs while Gibbs tried to get through to him past his demons.  
  
When Gibbs finally found something which registered with the feverish man, he somehow knew he shouldn’t have been surprised. The lullaby was an old one he had sung to Kelly since she was an infant and she had always loved it. Before long, Gibbs found himself going through his entire repertoire, finding ballads worked especially well to calm Tony.   
  
 _McGregor slowly returned to consciousness wondering if he was now hallucinating. Tibbs’ voice softly filled the room with melodious tales of pure hearts, loyal hounds, fairy princesses, unrequited love and----_  
  
Devoting all his energy towards Tony, Gibbs asked, “Are you awake, Elflord?” He glanced over his shoulder to find McGee blearily watching him with his mouth agape.  
  
“Um… Uh-huh, I-I think so…” Still heavily medicated, McGee’s mouth opened and closed in a manner reminiscent of a fish out of water, before he finally uttered, “Are…are you singing, Boss?”  
  
Gibbs watched in amusement as McGee groggily tried to keep his eyes open and his mouth closed. “No, Tim; it’s all a dream – and I’d better not be singing in any of your novels, either. Got it?”  
  
“Yeah. Got it, Boss.”  
  
 _ ~~McGregor slowly returned to consciousness wondering if he was now hallucinating. Tibbs’ voice softly filled the room with melodious tales of pure hearts, loyal hounds, fairy princesses, unrequited love and----~~  
  
McGregor slowly returned to consciousness to find Tibbs stoically watching over Tommy, silently daring the demons to come closer as he serenely smoothed his favored spot on the back of Tommy’s head._  
  
“Uh, Boss?”  
  
“What do you need, McGee?” Gibbs started humming softly when Tony’s short-lived calm began eroding.  
  
“Couldja sing  _‘Saddle My Dreams’_  again? Please?” McGee requested in a small voice as he drifted back to sleep.  
  
Shooting a bemused grin at the giggling nurse next to Tony, Gibbs gently stroked a shivering forearm and quietly launched into another round of song, gratefully watching Tony’s tightening eyelids slacken above the mask.  
  
 _As the morning sun began peeking through the window to burrow under his eyelids, McGregor awoke to find Tibbs pacing the room nursing a coffee cup while he silently watched over his men. Whether it was the drugs or something even he didn’t understand, McGregor found himself with an undeniable yearning for cowboy ballads and a determined resolution to never tease Tommy about his childhood or fear of vampires ever again._  
  


000

  
  
By the time Abby and Ducky arrived halfway through the morning, Tony’s fever had broken, leaving everyone exhausted from the crisis. Weak as a newborn kitten, Tony lay limp in the bedding. After Emma enlisted a few nurses to help bathe him and change his bedding, he had been dozing on and off for the past few hours, doing his best to cooperate with the doctors when asked, yet all he was able to do for the most part was peel an eye partially open and wait for them to come into his range of vision. For now, Tony had drifted off into oblivion once again.   
  
As Abby bounced into the room, clutching Bert in one hand and two bouquets of black balloons, each with a red heart balloon mixed in in the other, she looked uncertainly from Tony to McGee.   
  
Sensing her predicament, McGee suggested blearily, “Abs, I think Tony could really use Bert about now.”  
  
“How’s he doing?” she asked worriedly, looking between the two injured men as she chewed her lower lip.  
  
“Had a rough night,” Gibbs supplied as he leaned back into his chair with a sigh, looking more haggard than Abby had ever seen him. “But the docs said the crisis might be over now. His body’s starting to respond to the treatments.”  
  
When Tony next opened his eyes, above the band of black where the oxygen mask partially obscured his vision, all he saw was a set of fangs. His entire body jolted slightly in surprise and he could feel gentle hands on him as the heart monitor betrayed his alarm. As his vision cleared, he could see Bert’s snout, with Abby’s concerned green gaze just beyond. He blinked in relief and shakily focused on Abby, trying to keep his gaze steady enough to silently communicate with her. She smiled in understanding.  
  
“They won’t let me cuddle with you yet, so I brought Bert to keep you company.”  
  
Tony’s eyes wavered towards the stuffed animal. Abby could see the muscles in his arm weakly tense around Bert, yet no noise emanated. With a forefinger, she surreptitiously poked the hippo, eliciting a loud fart. As they closed, the corners of Tony’s eyes lifted as he smiled. He feebly curled just enough to rest his forehead against Bert’s snout. As he fell into a deep, healing sleep, Abby placed a soft kiss on Tony’s temple, leaving a black lip print behind. Gently caressing his hair, she left the sleeping agent to join Ducky in visiting McGee.  
  


000

  
  
When they walked in the door with his sister, Sarah, later that day, McGee couldn’t think of a time he was more glad to see his parents. By the time they arrived, Ducky had taken up a position between the two beds and the curtain had been drawn to provide Tony some privacy and McGee some relief from the worry every noise from the other bed brought him. Abby had joined them as well, curled once again on McGee’s bed, snuggling with him while he dozed, with some jazz playing in the background. Gibbs emerged from behind the curtain long enough to politely greet and briefly visit with the McGees before following Brad back behind the curtain when he arrived to perform a recheck. Ziva had been and gone, headed over to Gibbs’ house for a few changes of clothes. Every movement from the curtain was tracked by at least three sets of eyes; every audible utterance brought the other side to silence as everyone strained to hear what was happening.  
  
Collecting a kiss on the cheek from his mother and the forehead from his father, Tim felt himself relax a little with the familiar idle chit-chat his father immediately launched into to bring him up to date on their travels while his mother unraveled her yarn for her newest crocheting project and occasionally interjected with a correction. In turn, Ducky regaled them with stories of his own, helping lighten the mood until Brad ducked around the curtain and drew him off, out of the room.  
  
With the doctors’ disappearance, silence fell in the room except for the steady beep of Tony’s heart monitor and the soft murmur of voices behind the curtain. Abby curled tightly to McGee, trying to support him while drawing from his strength at the same time.  
  
Observing the interplay, McGee’s father asked, “That’s your partner, Tim?”  
  
“Yeah. Tony. He wasn’t doing so good last night, but he’s supposed to be improving now. Last I saw, he was pretty out of it.”  
  
“Timmy, are his parents coming?” his mother asked curiously while she scrutinized the thin cloth barrier and the shadows beyond it.  
  
“Mom,” Sarah huffed with a roll of her eyes, “Of course not, he’s Tommy.”  
  
“No he isn’t, dear. Timmy just said it’s Tony. Tommy is one of Timmy’s characters in his books.”  
  
Sarah crossed her arms and glowered at her brother. “Tell her, Tim.”  
  
Abby shifted to look knowingly at McGee as he struggled to follow the conversation. When she and Ducky first arrived that morning, as soon as he saw how stressed McGee had become over Tony’s condition, Ducky had requested a mild sedative for the junior agent. With that as well as the painkillers he was receiving intravenously, Tim’s hold on consciousness was tenuous at best. Abby felt sympathy for Tim as his mouth opened and closed repeatedly while he groggily searched for a rational explanation.  
  
Looking decidedly uncomfortable, he admitted, “There are certain parallels…”  
  
“He doesn’t have any family he can count on,” Abby saved McGee.   
  
“That’s so sad, isn’t it, dear?”  
  
McGee’s father nodded to his wife as he exchanged a knowing smile with his daughter.  
  
“He has Gibbs – and us,” Abby amended defensively with a slight pout. “I can’t think of many people who have someone who would care enough to sing to them all night when they were sick…”  
  
The curtain rustled as Gibbs peered around it to shoot a withering look at McGee, who shifted uncomfortably at the mild glare.  
  
“Thanks a lot, Abs. I think I just got a psychic Gibbs slap.”  
  


000

  
  
After spending a nightmarish night in roiling waves of crimson and grey, with flashes of heat lightning bisecting his brain, and most of the day in a peculiar hazy limbo, Tony’s awareness gradually returned. His first conscious sensation was a muted pressure which radiated with each pulse of his beating heart. Rising further, the pressure broke free of the chemical padding surrounding his nerve endings, leaving Tony scudding along the waves of pain, tumbling down the depths of the swells before cresting another wave. He gasped for breath, trying to draw air in around a chest which recoiled at the very thought of expanding.  
  
Tony tried to shrink back from the hands which suddenly appeared from nowhere, but his body was unresponsive. These hands were gentle, healing hands – not the hands of his Master nor his opium addled doctor or even his various assistants, but caring hands which paused when the pain spiked before gingerly probing once more. Quelling the panic the paralysis brought with it, his sluggish brain tracked the hands as they delicately shifted from one part of his body to another: checking tubes and wires, changing bandages, cleaning his body, his wounds. Cool air rushed across the small of his back when they folded back the sheets to explore his ravaged back.  
  
Through it all, a hand gently stroked the back of his head, grounding him and giving comfort; a low murmur could occasionally be heard but the tone and message was lost to his benumbed mind. The familiar scent of her gunpowder perfume trickling around the seals of the oxygen mask first made him think it was Abby at his side, but the caress was too firm, the hands calloused. Yarn whiskers tickled his cheek and a soft fart reverberated against his chest, alerting him to Bert’s presence in the crook of his arm. When the world beyond his closed lids darkened, the twin scents of coffee and sawdust permeated his senses as he felt the soft brush of cotton on his exposed arm.  
  
Opening his eyes to mere slits, Tony saw his Boss return to his seat as a voice droned over his head, seemingly from the other end of the world. The voice sounded vaguely familiar. Brad? Ducky, maybe? Just then Gibbs noticed his scrutiny; he bent low so they were eye to eye while his hand slid to the base of Tony’s skull. Gibbs gave Tony’s neck a gentle squeeze as his thumb ruffled through the short hairs there.   
  
His Boss’ mouth moved then frowned at Tony’s blank stare.   
  
Leaning forward with Tony’s head still cupped in his hand, Gibbs spoke directly into his ear, “You with me, DiNozzo?”  
  
Rolling his eye to follow Gibbs, Tony closed it briefly in affirmation.  
  
His mentor’s mouth twitched once before he bent close again. “I’m proud of you, Anthony. You did good.”  
  
Rising enough to see the younger man’s expression, Gibbs smiled fondly as Tony’s eyes widened slightly and some of the usual sparkle returned to glitter in their depths. As if he didn’t already know Tony’s memory had returned, the past several times he had awakened it hadn’t escaped the senior agent’s notice how the doe-eyed innocence had been replaced by a haunted vulnerability fueled by a bone-deep exhaustion.  
  
Knowing he first had to support his man through the next few days, Gibbs couldn’t help but lean forward to press a gentle kiss above one arched brow. He allowed himself to grin at the wide-eyed wonder staring back at him. Speaking so close silken strands entangled in his stubble, Gibbs asserted, “Rest now. I’ve got your six.”  
  
As if he had any choice in the matter, Tony readily complied. He closed his eyes and did his best to ignore the pain and center his focus on the rhythmic kneading on the back of his neck instead. Without warning, a warm, soothing sensation coursed into his chest – the familiar feel of a Morphine pump being discharged. He couldn’t fight the pull of the medicine -- didn’t want to -- as it swept him into the enveloping darkness.  
  


000

  
  
By the next morning, Gibbs took Tony being taken off the non-rebreather mask and put back on the cannula as the most tangible sign of Brad’s confidence in his obvious improvement. Tony had regained some color and, as opposed to the day before when he appeared a limp shell of himself, he had clearly strengthened. Satisfied with how he was responding to treatment, Brad waited for Ducky to arrive before proceeding with the next step in Tony’s care. When Gibbs left Tony to speak with the doctors out in the hall, Tony lay, facing McGee, his eyes opening and closing apparently of their own volition.  
  
“Tony, you awake?”  
  
The currently open eye blinked. “Uh-hunh. Whassup, Pro-bie?”  
  
“How are you feeling?” McGee winced once he’d said it; he’d thought the question was pretty rhetorical when people visited him and didn’t really merit an answer when he obviously couldn’t even shift his weight without daggers of pain radiating through both gunshot wounds. He appreciated it that Tony didn’t berate him for such a stupid question.  
  
“HowdoIlook?” Tony breathed as he struggled to focus on his partner.  
  
McGee swallowed. He was the one who brought it up after all. “Well… To be honest, you look like crap.”  
  
Tony wheezed an amused laugh, then started coughing uncontrollably for several minutes, sending McGee’s hand rummaging for the pager until Tony caught his breath. “Don’ do that….ta me, McPasty. ‘m fine. How’reyoo?”  
  
“I didn’t realize gunshot wounds could hurt so much,” he admitted.  
  
Tony closed his eyes as he feebly repositioned himself so he could face McGee better. After panting through the pain, he opened them again to consider McGee thoughtfully. “’s your first….time gettingshot, hunh?”  
  
“Second. Took a hit to the chest back in January – right under the clavicle. They had to go in after it, but it wasn’t like this…”  
  
“Lucky… Bad spot ta take one. ..No exit?”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Hadta be sssmall ..caliber… .22?”  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
“Lotsa nerves….blood vesssels…”  
  
“It nicked the brachialcephalic artery but missed everything else.”  
  
Tony blearily surveyed his probie. “Coulda bled out… Glad….didnn, Tim.”  
  
McGee nodded as he found something interesting to pick at on his blanket.  
  
Tony licked his lips, wishing for some ice chips but knowing it was impossible unless he had McGee hit his call button and he knew the flurry of activity that would bring him. “Glock .357 like Deth Starrr. Tear throo anything. At first, ..it burns. ..When burn stops….gotta do th exercises….they give ya….until ya really can’t….anymore,” he advised. “Left shoulder?”  
  
McGee looked to Tony. “You remember.”  
  
“’member everything, Probie... Hand?”  
  
McGee gingerly flexed his fingers. “Doc says there was no nerve damage, some tendon damage, though.”  
  
“Lottsa work, but….can fix….tendons. Back in field – no problem.”  
  
“You think?” McGee asked hopefully even as a corner of his mind thought Tony’s choppy, slurred speech made it sound like he was speaking with Yoda. “I was afraid the Sig’s recoil might be too much.”  
  
“Doubt me, McGoo? Gibbs… help with that; ..shoot withotherhand,…too.”  
  
McGee’s eyes widened in horror. “Crap, I just got a new PDA!”  
  
Tony grinned in merriment. “Mi’ wanna....back that sucker up….‘fore go….to range.”  
  
“Yeah, laugh all you want, Tony, Gibbs never made you shoot your PDA.”  
  
“Not s’posed to shoot PDA….s’posed to shoot….target.”  
  
“Yeah, well, easier said than done. At least Gibbs hasn’t asked for yours yet…”  
  
“Know howlong….takes t’….break-in cap? Perfect arch on brim wi’….’lastics…”  
  
“Tony?”  
  
“Wassup, Probie?”  
  
“Are you gonna come back to the team. You know, go out in the field and everything?”  
  
“’s my life, Probie. Y’ know somethin’….I don’t?”  
  
McGee hedged, “Gibbs said you’re coming back…”  
  
“That….settles it then. ..Boss ‘s….always right.”  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
“Think my cap safer….th’n your PDA.”  
  
“Why’s that?”  
  
The smile blossomed across Tony’s face. “Boss knows….I didn’ miss.”

000


	30. Chapter 30

 

 

As she headed towards the door to leave, Amanda Curtis couldn’t help but take an extra minute to soak up the ambiance. This quirky accidental family had come to grow on her and she could not imagine a more healing place than this small double hospital room. Soft jazz played constantly courtesy of Abby’s iPod sitting in its dock on the table next to McGee’s bed. The curtain between the two men was currently partially drawn but there was a constant ebb and flow of people from one side to the other as everyone’s physical and emotional needs were cared for, often in the smallest of gestures.   
  
In the far bed, she could see that Tony had drifted off to sleep, tucked under his fleece Marine Corps blanket and snuggled up to an impressively ugly stuffed hippo, which she had only realized halfway through her visit was the likely source of the farting noises that had interspersed their conversation. Tony had one of his hands innocently draped across Gibbs’ lap as his boss quietly read a book. In the other bed, Abby was curled up against Tim, trying to sneak a peek at his cards while he continued to hide them from her as they played a game with Ziva and his sister. Tim’s parents casually lounged nearby, his mother crocheting what was shaping up to look like a sweater while his father was muttering to himself as he worked on a Sudoku puzzle.  
  
Stepping from the room, Amanda was intercepted by Brad Pitt and Donald Mallard.  
  
Raising his eyebrows in invitation, Brad asked, “Was he awake?”  
  
Amanda smiled. “Yes. Briefly.”  
  
“What do you think?”  
  
Amanda considered her short visit……  
  
 _“Hi, Tony,” Amanda rested a hand on her patient’s bicep as he attempted to face her. Resting on her haunches next to Gibbs’ seat so she could meet Tony’s eyes, she cautioned, “Don’t get up, this isn’t an official visit – I just wanted to check in on you.”_  
  
 _“Hi, Mandy,” Tony breathed. The corner of his lips quirked when Gibbs’ eyebrow rose at his use of the doctor’s nickname. “Good thing….not up to much talkin’.”_  
  
 _“I can see that. When you are up to it, we can talk if that’s okay with you?”_  
  
 _“I’d like that,” Tony allowed shyly._  
  
 _She noticed Gibbs tense when she asked, “Have you remembered much?”_  
  
 _Tony’s eyes grew distant. “Pretty much everything, I guess.”_  
  
 _“That’s a lot to remember,” she observed sympathetically._  
  
 _“It’s not all bad,” Tony reminded her with a wistful smile. “A lot of what I forgot….some of the best times of my life, you know.”_  
  
 _“Like what?” she asked with a hopeful smile._  
  
 _“The day Gibbs became my boss.” Tony beamed a devilish grin in recollection as Gibbs snorted in amusement._  
  
 _“It sounds like there’s a good story there. Your Boss…” Amanda pondered slyly, “Is that with a big ‘B’ or a little ‘b’?”_  
  
 _“Two ‘b’s,” Tony supplied with a smile Gibbs fondly shadowed……_  
  
Amanda shook her head at the two doctors facing her. “I think Tony’s going to be fine in time. He’s remarkably resilient and his support system is incredible.”  
  
“But, how about going back into the field?” Ducky asked fretfully. “I cannot begin to express to you how important it is to him to be a field agent again.”  
  
She sighed softly. “I can’t make any promises, but he’s come so far even before this latest trauma, I don’t see why not. Much of it is up to him. As soon as he’s ready, I’d like to schedule some appointments…”  
  
Ducky smiled in relief, “Of course, Amanda. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done for him.”  
  
“Ducky, it has been my pleasure!”  
  
His eyes wide with mock alarm, Brad laughed, “Don’t say that – look where it got me!”  
  
“You wouldn’t have had it any other way, Bradley,” Ducky chided in jest.  
  
“Duck, I swear these grey hairs I’m starting to get have Tony’s name written all over them. Are you sure Gibbs was already silver when he hired him?”  
  
“Quite certain, although I assure you I have acquired quite a few of my own!”  


 

000

  
  
_Shifting a little more upright in his bed, McGregor looked uncomfortably at his parents as they both settled in for another long visit. They were staying at the local temporary base housing for retired officers while he recuperated but, as much as he appreciated their coming to see him in the hospital, Tim couldn’t shake the guilty feelings having loving parents doting on him as thoroughly as his parents did when he suspected Tommy never had. He was just thankful they spent most of their mornings with his sister, Sasha, until visiting hours officially opened shortly after lunch._   
  
_For his part, Tommy spent most of the time blissfully unaware, sleeping, frequently with the curtain drawn. Tim’s boss was also impressively scarce considering he rarely left the room. Tibbs still paid plenty of attention to McGregor’s care as well, especially before visiting hours when he was the only one present, but he had handed over responsibility of McGregor to his parents when they arrived. Now, when his parents appeared each day, Tibbs would politely visit for a while before excusing himself to disappear behind the curtain. Tim could occasionally hear Tibbs speak too low for him to hear and Tommy’s voice softly in reply._   
  
_Doctor Bitt was in and out constantly and would often stop and visit McGregor when he came to check on Tommy. When Doctor Amurtis came, Tim would often be visited by Tibbs when the psychiatrist would kick him out of Tommy’s side of the room, draw the curtain and put on some music to ensure Tommy’s privacy while they spoke._   
  
_A few days after they were admitted, Amy arrived all smiles with her jeweler friend, Benjamin, in tow. As soon as he saw him, Tibbs impatiently ushered Benjamin directly to Tommy’s bed, where Doctor Amurtis was waiting, and drew the curtain while Amy visited with McGregor. When they left, McGregor noticed Tommy’s wrist cuffs and collar were now missing and he assumed the ankle bracelets had been removed as well, taking the visible reminders of Tony’s ordeal away. McGregor couldn’t help but wonder about the piercings but felt it might be not be a good idea to ask Tibbs about them. If Tibbs were ever to leave the room when she was present, he could always ask Amy, but he knew Tibbs would know about it even if he wasn’t present. Asking Tommy himself wasn’t an option, since Tim somehow knew he would never live it down._   
  
_That evening, when the team congregated in their room and the curtain was drawn out of the way so everyone could visit, McGregor couldn’t miss how Tommy’s hand frequently drifted to his bare neck until Amy rose with a harrumph, drew Tibbs off for a stern lecture and then turned to speak privately with Tommy. The next morning when the physical therapist came to work with Tommy, McGregor noticed a simple gold chain had appeared on Tommy’s neck with what appeared to be the tag from his collar on it._   
  
_In no time at all, McGregor had had enough of lying in bed. Every time the therapist would come by to help Tommy up, Tim would enviously watch his partner rise and toddle around the room or, as he regained his strength, disappear down the corridor as he worked on his core balance. With McGregor’s arm out of commission as well, crutches weren’t an option and he was sick of being an invalid. Tibbs seemed to sense this and did his best to keep McGregor’s mind elsewhere, but it was Tommy who seemed to keep Tim’s spirits up the most with increasingly constant chatter about all manner of things as he recovered as well._   
  
_While Tibbs sat off to one side watching in amusement, the two partners watched movies, TV shows and sporting events, often doing their best Mystery Science Theater impressions as the cable stations reran the same movies over and over. Amy loved to join them and contribute her own spin on the characters and plotlines while Lisa enjoyed the repartee but seemed befuddled by the nonsense. Just as they were running out of distractions, Pimmy brought some of Tommy’s DVDs, earning him their undying gratitude as they sought new ways to relieve their boredom without earning a slap from Tibbs._   
  
_Through it all, McGregor came to understand his boss’ observation. As much as Tommy had suffered terribly throughout his ordeal, he was still Tommy. He had survived, maybe a bit scarred in spots, but with his head held high and his spirit intact. Tommy wasn’t a victim because Tommy chose to triumph over it rather than allow it to rule him. While he would occasionally grow quiet and, perhaps, a bit reflective, he never seemed to brood or agonize over what had happened, which fascinated McGregor. After McGregor had infiltrated the terrorist camp, it had taken him several days to process it and, after his own captivity in the prison, he’d had nightmares for weeks afterwards. Tommy was a survivor and, through it, McGregor found he could survive it and move on as well._   


 

000

  
  
_McGregor gingerly shifted on his bed to watch Doctor Bitt and Nurse Anna help Agent Tommy into the wheelchair. Tommy was finally on his way home to recover from his latest ordeal, leaving McGregor alone in the hospital room. With the gunshots to both his leg and shoulder rendering him relatively helpless, McGregor would have to stay in the hospital at least one more day before Amy could take him home. Agent Lisa and Special Agent Tibbs hovered nearby as Dr. Bitt went over Tommy’s instructions with him one last time. By the time the doctor was finished, Tibbs had the wheelchair well in hand and was edging his way towards the door._  
  
 _“Good luck with the escape plans, Probie! By the way, I put in a request for a sponge bath from Nurse Greta for you – she’ll be up in a little while,” Tommy exclaimed with a mischievous grin over his shoulder as he disappeared from view._  
  
 _“Bye, Tommy,” McGregor grumbled, not sure if he was glad for Tommy’s return to his version of normalcy or wished a little of his former persona had stuck._  
  
 _With a knowing smirk, Agent Lisa fluttered her fingers good-bye at McGregor as she flew out of the room to try to keep up with the senior agent, who appeared to be making a beeline for the elevators before the doctor changed his mind._  
  
 _With his parents off touring the Capital city for the day, for the first time in nearly a week and a half, McGregor was truly alone. In an effort to relieve his boredom, McGregor flipped through the TV channels, looking for something to watch. His laptop Amy had smuggled in just a couple days earlier had been confiscated the day before when Tibbs caught him trying to hack into the hospital’s main frame to access his MMORPG. Amy was busy with a few cases and had called earlier to promise she would be by later in the day or, at least, that’s what he thought she said over the blaring cacophony behind her._  
  
 _By the time Doctor Brant wandered in, McGregor had been manhandled clean, no thanks to Tommy, and was now officially bored to death. Goosie quirked an eyebrow at the 1960’s spy show and McGregor’s heavy lidded eyes and limp posture as he came into the room._  
  
 _“Are things truly so bleak, Timothy? At least you have some good shows to watch, I see.”_  
  
 _“I’m so bored, Goosie.”_  
  
 _“Well, that’s why I’m here,” the coroner placated. “Apparently, I missed young Thomas?”_  
  
 _“Yeah, Tibbs took him home two hours ago.”_  
  
 _“Oh, LJ didn’t bring him home; he simply came to visit and ensure that Tommy was released into good hands. Director Lance needed Tibbs in the office today. I believe Agent Lisa offered to take Thomas home.”_  
  
 _McGregor sat up a little straighter, wincing when his shoulder pulled the wrong way against his sutures. That wasn’t right!_  
  
 _Remembering Lisa’s cat caught the canary smile as she left, his eyes narrowed. “Lisa brought him home?”_  
  
 _“Oh, yes. Tibbs has meetings with Lance and the FBI all day to close out the case, so Lisa offered to take the day off so she could bring Thomas home and get him settled.”_  
  
 _“I bet she did,” McGregor said under his breath._  
  
“You know, Ziva, the next time you offer to bring someone home from the hospital, you might want to grab a company car,” Tony complained petulantly as the petite Israeli struggled to hoist him into a standing position from the passenger seat of her Cooper.  
  
“I do not see the need for a company car when my car serves the purpose.”  
  
“You’re also not six-two with a back that doesn’t want to hold itself up,” Tony gritted as he pulled himself upright by the car’s roof.   
  
Tony readily accepted the help when Ziva scurried under one of his arms and helped him limp into Gibbs’ house. Depositing him on the couch with twin groans, Ziva helped Tony lie down and covered him before rushing out to the car to collect his things. By the time she returned, Tony had already dozed off, exhausted from the simple exertion. Organizing Tony’s medication on the island and pulling out the book she had tossed into the top of the bag, Ziva wandered into the kitchen to make herself a pot of tea.  
  
 _Gently leading Tommy into her apartment, Agent Lisa smiled seductively at him. “Doctor Bitt said you need to move your back on a regular basis for your skin to heal with some elasticity. Why not start now, Tommy?”  
  
“Why, Leesah, I never thought you’d ask!” Tommy replied huskily as he drew her close to him. He flinched and reached around to gently take her wrists in his hands, placing them on less tender spots without breaking the embrace.  
  
Stepping out of the embrace with an inviting wink, Lisa linked her arm with his and led Tommy towards her bedroom._  
  
Gibbs looked up from his book as a shadow drifted to haunt just beyond the doorway. Pulling his glasses off, he peered into the dark, seeing an outline created by the soft glow of a distant nightlight.  
  
“Tony, you okay?”  
  
Tony came into the light, hesitation in every line of his body. He stood wordlessly looking at Gibbs, his expression warily embarrassed. Gibbs couldn’t help but flash on a little girl with auburn braids and a large bunny clutched in one hand standing in much the same way with a singular plea in her eyes.  
  
“I- um… I better get to bed.” With one hand on the doorframe for balance, Tony turned away only to be stopped by Gibbs’ voice.  
  
“Tony?”  
  
“I’m fine. I just—“  
  
“No. Come here.”  
  
“Gibbs…”  
  
“Do I have to make that an order?”  
  
Meekly shaking his head, Tony obeyed, coming just over the threshold, his eyes anxiously looking around the room.  
  
“Come here,” Gibbs coaxed his recalcitrant agent. He flipped the covers off the other side of the bed. “Come to bed.” At Tony’s obstinate look, Gibbs glared back in challenge. “Do I need to put you to bed, DiNozzo?”  
  
Quickly yielding to his Boss’ threat, Tony reluctantly climbed into the other side of the bed with a strangled hiss as he carefully respected the invisible halfway mark.   
  
Gibbs, however, would have none of that. “Come ‘ere,” he urged. “I know you don’t want to lie on your back; get comfortable.” He reached over, snaking an arm behind Tony’s shoulders and drawing his senior field agent towards him as he scooted closer. He felt Tony momentarily stiffen before rolling into his usual position on his side up against him.   
  
“Sorry, Boss.”  
  
“Don’t say you’re sorry, it’s a sign of weakness.”  
  
“And this isn’t?”  
  
“Nope. Besides, there’s nothing to be sorry about. If you ever need anything, Tony, I want you to ask for it. We’re here for ya.”  
  
Resignedly nestling his head on Gibbs’s chest, Tony sighed softly before muttering hoarsely, “My name is Anthony DiNozzo, I’m a federal agent who carries a gun, hunts down bad guys and has to share a bed with his boss to sleep.” His hand flew up to the soft tap. “Ow! Hey, injured man here! I’m tellin’ Ducky!”  
  
“Tony, get some sleep.”  
  
“I bet you’d rather be sleeping under your boat than me,” Tony scoffed self-consciously.  
  
“I don’t keep my boats, DiNozzo,” came the gruff reply.  
  
“Boss?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Does it ever get better?”  
  
“Yeah, in time.”  
  
“How?”  
  
“Everyone’s different but ya gotta work your way through it. Learn to count on your friends. Let it out when you have to.”  
  
“DiNozzos don’t cry,” Tony protested  
  
Gibbs’ arm tightened around Tony. “Maybe. But Gibbs do.”  
  
Tony fell silent. “I wish I was a Gibbs.”  
  
“You are, DiNozzo, you are… Go to sleep.”  
  
Gibbs lay quietly as Tony shifted and settled before drifting off to sleep snuggled deep against his boss. With one arm around Tony, Gibbs sighed deeply as he watched the ceiling fan twirl over his head, ticking off the minutes. Before he knew it, he found his free hand drifting as it often did towards his belt where it lay coiled on the nightstand. Trying to not jostle his slumbering agent, Gibbs slipped two fingers into the small pocket secreted in the back seam, withdrawing a well-worn piece of paper.  
  
 _‘Merry Christmas, Boss!_  
  
 _Ever since that crazy day in Baltimore, you’ve been on my six and there’s absolutely no one else I’d rather have there. You taught me what Semper fi really means not by your words but by your example. Thanks from the bottom of my heart._  
  
 _Hoo-rah!_  
  
 _Tony’_  


 

END

000


End file.
